Title: Harry Potter and The Legend of the Dragonriders
Author: TheGnrJunkie
Overall Story Rating: R
Chapter Rating: G/PG
Disclaimer: Does anything in this story belong to me? Sigh. Not much of it. Most of the new characters, places, animals, and the plot belong to me, but everything that you recognize belongs to either Ms. J.K. Rowling or others whose names I, unfortunately, cannot remember. A special thanks to these people for making this story possible. Also, part of the description of the sword Harry gets wasborrowed from The Lord of the Rings, Weapons and Warfare by Chris Smith.
Genre: Action/Adventure/Fantasy
Summary: On the morning of his sixteenth birthday, Harry Potter is visited by an odd creature. After being transported to a strange cave, he finds himself surrounded by wierd people, and is soon booted into the wilderness with little more than an unmastered sword, his partially-destroyed wand, and an untrained dragon. Will he ever find his way home?
Author's Note One: I drafted the beginning of this story before book five even hit the shelves, but I changed it so that it fits in with the canon as closely as possible; I am still shocked at how different my writing style was three years ago. I got the idea for Harry Potter and The Legend of the Dragonriders from Dragonmasters by Naia and my over-active imagination, and I recommend that you read Dragonmasters, because it's really great! I hope that this story is tolerable and that it doesn't sound too much like Dragonmasters; if it does, I would like to be told! Please read, review, and, most importantly, enjoy!
Current Chapter: Chapter 1 - Birthday Surprises
Chapter Warnings: Spoilers for PS/SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, and OoTP
Current Date: Wednesday, July 31, 1996
The full moon shone down on the small, square houses of Privet Drive. The sky was cloudless and the stars twinkled down on the sleepy hollow, where the average occupants of the small, homely street lay, sleeping, in their soft, warm beds, thoughts of chocolate, fairies, and sugarplums in their heads.
A pale shaft of moonlight lit up the floor directly underneath one dark room in number four. At first glance, the room would appear absolutely ordinary, perhaps even boring, but at second glance, it would appear anything but ordinary to the eye, if that eye belonged to a muggle, at least.
The desk was simple enough on the surface. It was small and appeared to be made of aged mahogany wood; one of its legs was cracked and had been haphazardly repaired with a strip of thick, glittering tape with the word SPELLOTAPE stamped across it. Upon the desk, messily piled, was a pile of books with titles ranging from Curses and Hexes: An Advanced Guide to Merlin's Accomplishments to The Monster Book of Monsters, which was wrapped by a belt and appeared to be quivering. A book lay on the desk, opened to a sketch of an oval field with small moving dots zooming back and forth across its face, labeled with names such as Seeker, Chaser, and Bludger A, and the words QUIDDITCH: A SIMPLE DIAGRAM were flashing underneath it. An empty birdcage sat opposite the pile of books, next to a bottle of Sketchy Stew's All-Purpose Invisble Ink, which was open and spilling onto a piece of thick paper, which remained as if untouched. Also untouched was a tin of several small, blackened cakes which looked quite unsafe.
Leaving the desk behind, one could find a trunk open at the end of an empty bed, the contents spilling carelessly forth: a silvery cloak lay draped over the side, and as it swayed the trunk would disappear before reappearing once again, and a wooden stick was set on its folds. A black robe with a proud red and gold lion was folded carefully next to it, and a small, leather Broomstick Servicing Kit and a plain, pointed black hat were sticking out from under One Hundred Magical Herbs and Fungi, a colorful book set upon this black robe.
It one were to look further into this room and its furniture, he or she would find a sleek broomstick with the word Firebolt emblazoned on the tail end propped up in the closet, and a poster of seven snoozing men and women in proud orange robes on the inside door. The words CHUDLEY CANNONS were flashing in large letters beneath the team, and underneath this, written in an untidy scrawl, were the words Merry Christmas, Harry. Your Friend, Ron. An assortment of unusual sweets, including Chocolate Frogs, which, like The Monster Book of Monsters, were quivering, Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, and an unopened package of Blood-Flavored Lollipops were stored underneath a loose floor board located beneath the bed.
None of these items, though strange and eye-catching, were as interesting as the occupant of the small, forgotten room. Harry Potter was not your average sixteen-year-old boy. He was a wizard, or at least a wizard-in-training, one fresh from his fifth year in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, one who was anxiously awaiting the freedom that a ride on his Firebolt would bring.
As far back as he cared to recall, Harry remembered that he had lived with his muggle, or non-magic, relatives, his aunt, Petunia Dursley, uncle, Vernon Dursley, and cousin, Dudley Dursley. His magical heritage had been hidden from him behind a thick wall of jealously, anger, fear, and disgust until his eleventh birthday, when the keeper of the keys at Hogwarts had told him of the magical school, and his place within it. Now that Harry had completed five years of his magical training and was about to start his sixth, his family had stopped discouraging his abnormality and simply ignored him as much as humanly possible. While Harry still had more chores that others his age, his aunt and uncle had decided they couldn't care less about his room being covered in that other garbage, as the m word was strictly forbidden in the quiet, average, normal Dursley household, where things were usually everything but quiet, average, and normal, at least when Harry was home for the summer.
To the average human being it would seem sad that Harry was so blatantly and obviously ignored, and percieved as filth in the eyes of his only family, but Harry, just like his bedroom decorations and the attitudes of the Durlseys toward it, could care less. His real family was at Hogwarts or in the wizarding world, and Harry was counting down the days until he could return to school and see his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, again, as the hand-made calendar currently taped to the wall next to his bed could attest to.
Ron Weasley had been Harry's best, and, if one could forget Hagrid, the kind half-giant groundskeeper at Hogwarts, which any student of would assure you wasn't an easy person to forget, first friend; Harry had met him on his first ride aboard the Hogwarts Express back before he had even been sorted into Gryffindor, his house at school. Ron was the youngest boy in a family of seven, followed only by his sister, Ginny Weasley, who was a year younger than her brother and had only broken out of her shell this past year, a shell that Harry was happy to see shatter. All of the Weasleys had fiery red hair and a temper to match.
Harry had met Hermione Granger on that fateful train ride before his first year, as well, but it was safe to saythat they hadn't gotten off on such great terms. At first, Hermione had struck Harry as an annoying, know-it-all bookworm, and someone to be ignored, but after saving her from a mountain troll with the help of Ron in the girl's bathroom in Halloween of that first year, the three had become the famous 'Golden Trio' of Hogwarts, and had been virtually inseparable since.
Harry's distinguishing scar, a thin, lightning-bolt shaped reminder in the middle of his forehead of his first encounter with Lord Voldemort, the nearly-immortalized dark wizard that had viciously murdered his parents, James and Lily Potter, in cold blood, and left Harry without any family except for the cruel Dursleys, was the cause of his current unrest, as were most of his sleepless nights attributed to the Dark Lord. This scar had not been the only scar or reminder of battle with Voldemort; there was also a small crescent-shaped scar on the crook of his right elbow, where he had been stabbed with a dagger to help in the resurrection of Voldemort by unwillingly giving up some of his blood.
This had been the year before last at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, when Harry and Cedric Diggory, a fellw champion, had reached the cup at the same time and foolishly decided to take the cup at the same time, as they were both champions of Hogwarts. That had proved to be a fatal mistake on Cedric's part, as the cup had been a cleverly-disguised portkey that had transported them to a cemetary, where Cedric had been murdered by Wormtail, an ex-friend of Harry's father who had framed Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, for the murder of twelve muggles, himself, and for giving the whereabouts of the Potters to Voldemort, on order of the Dark Lord himself.
After the huge ordeal in which Harry had dueled single-handedly with Voldemort and escaped with the help of the shadows of the Dark Lord's former victims, Harry had escaped using the portkey as a way to get back to Hogwarts, where he had found out that Professor Moody was really Barty Crouch, Jr., and a spy for Voldemort, and had told the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, about Voldemort's return.
Unfortunately, Fudge had been in denial about his rebirth until a short while ago, when Fudge had seen Voldemort, himself, in the Ministry of Magic. Shortly before that, Harry had suffered another huge loss when he had witnessed his godfather, the still-hunted Sirius Black, die at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange, one of Voldemort's trusted servants. An anger-driven duel with Bellatrix had preceded the arrival of Voldemort, who had tried to possess Harry while holding off Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts and his only true adversary, at least at the moment. After Fudge, and several other top-ranking ministry officials, had seen Voldemort in all his glory, the Daily Prophet, the wizarding newspaper, had printed that Voldemort had indeed returned.
The pain in his scar, which had steadily been growing worse since Harry's last encounter with Voldemort, had woken him just shy of twelve a.m. on the eve of his sixteenth birthday. He couldn't remember his dream, or if he had even had one, but if he had, Harry was sure it had something to do with Voldemort. Harry and Voldemort were connected by Harry's scar, and sometimes, Harry would witness Voldemort's goings-on in his dreams.
Even the stars seemed cold as they twinkled down upon hm, his green eyes shot with red and his face paler than usual. Dark blue rings had settled themselves underneath his usually brilliant eyes, a testament to his insomnia. His clothes, which were Dudley's disowned hand-me-downs, hung off his body, lean-muscled from Quidditch practive, his chores, and running about the castle in order to reach his classes, which seemed to get further apart every year, on time.
Harry ran a hand through his unwashed, unruly jet black hair, and leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the window sill. The streetlamps of Privet Drive flickered and a black cat slinked around one close to his home before disappearing into the shadows beyond light's reach. Harry found himself wondering if, perhaps, the cat was a disguised member of the Order of the Phoenix, a secret order of witches and wizards who fought against Voldemort. Some witches and wizards, called Animagi, could turn themselves into animals at will. Sirius had been an animagus; that was how he had escaped from the wizarding prison, Azkaban.
As Harry ruthlessly pushed all thoughts of his deceased godfather from his mind, he caught sight of a strange animal flying fast towards Privet Drive, namely his home, and specifically his bedroom. As the animal dipped low over a lamp, Harry breathed a sigh of relief as it was revealed that it was only half a dozen or so owls flying in close formation. Opening his window and jumping back to free the way, Harry watched the owls fly into his room one-by-one. They all dropped letters and/or packages onto his bed, except for the energetic Pig, Ron's owl, who twittered around the room and dropped his package directly onto Harry's head and then proceeded to fly madly around the room, hooting excitedly. Harry, alarmed, quickly grabbed Pig and stuffed a piece of the rock-solid cakes that sat on his desk into the eccentric owl's mouth, sealing its beak shut.
Two of the owls, a refined tawny that Harry guessed was from Hogwarts, and a tired, ruffled hawk owl that Harry had never seen before, swooped back out of the window and into the night; the others settled themselves on his chair, desk, wardrobe, and, in the case of Hedwig, who had swooped in with a letter and package tied to her leg and a dead frog in her beak, in her cage.
Harry eyed the large pile of packages on his bed. Once package in particular, from whom Harry could not fathom, was much larger than the others, and was causing his bed to creak wildly.
He reached down after a moment of contemplation and retrieved Ron's letter and gift from the floor. After moving all of the packages onto the floor, Harry sat down onto the edge of the bed and ripped open the letter, excitement building.
Dear Harry,
Hullo, mate! How are you? I hope you're not as bored as I am, becuase you're most likely dying of boredom if you are. Fred and George have been locked up in their room all summer, experimenting. Mum went nuts when she found out that you had given them your Triwizard winnings, but we calmed her down. She told them they had to pay you back when they could, though.
Charlie's here. He helped me pick out the book that I got for you. I hope you enjoy it; it seemed interesting and it wasn't cheap. Mum says not to get any ideas. I hope you have a great summer, and, as soon as we're given the all-clear, we'll be over in a jiffy to get you out of the hole.
Your friend,
Ron Weasley.
Harry smiled for the first time in a while. He planned on telling Fred and George not to worry about repaying him the next time he saw them, however. The one-thousand galleons had indeed been a huge amount of money to give, but Harry didn't regret it in the slightest. Fred and George were perfect for bringing laughs into the darkening world he lived in.
Charlie Weasley was one of Ron's five older brothers. He worked in Romania with dragons. All of the elder Weasleys, except Percy, who had sided with the Ministry of Magic when the split from Dumbledore and, to Harry's knowledge, had not reconciled with his family, were on Dumbledore's side. He put the letter aside and lifted the rectangular package; it was heavy. He ripped the wrapping from it and found a book with the gleaming words From Egg to Inferno: A Dragon Keeper's Guide stamped across the cover to be insde. He grinned. Hagrid had used this book in the first year while raising his illegal dragon, Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback. Charlie's friends had taken Norbert to Romania, and, based on his experiences with the ridgeback, Harry wouldn't be getting any ideas.
Putting aside the book and letter, Harry took the package that Hedwig had carried next. After tearing open the letter, he found it to be from Hermione.
Dear Harry,
Hello. How are you? I hope you're doing well. I'm fine. I've been reading up on the books we were assigned for next year, and I'm almost done with our Defense Against the Dark Arts' text. Were you aware that we'll be learning all about dragons this year in Care of Magical Creatures, according to the curriculum book? I really hope that Hagrid doesn't get another dragon, or worse, Norbert comes back. That would be frightening. I assume he's grown. A lot.
I really hope you enjoy your present and that I'll see you at headquarters in two weeks. I'll be spending the rest of the vacation there. My parents are going to a series of conventions across Austrailia, and won't be back until September fifth, and I can't very well miss the first few days of school, now can I? It's unfortunate, though. I read that the Australian Ministry of Magic is one the best structured in the entire world, and they have the most advanced magical technology there.
With love,
Hermione.
Harry rolled his eyes as he finished the letter. It was just like Hermione to read all of her books before school even started. He laughed quietly when she wrote about Norbert coming back; it would indeed be frightening. Putting Hermione's letter aside, he turned to her gift. It was another book, Harry was unsurprised to learn, entilted The Dark Arts and their Defenses.
"Thanks, Hermione," he whispered. He carefully placed the book on top of the one Ron had sent him, and pulled the third letter and package towards himself. He couldn't recognize the handwriting, and was pleasently surprised when he found it to be Ron's sister, Ginny, who had written it.
Dear Harry,
Hi. I hope you're having a good summer, but I doubt it with the muggles.
I can't wait until you get here, it's boring with just Ron, Charlie, and the others that have nowhere else to go. Anyway, enjoy your present. It's called a Nightmare Catcher, and they're kind-of like Dreamcatchers in the muggle world, except they really work. They're invulnerable to harm and the greatest thing about them is that they're not dangerous or addictive like charms and potions designed to block dreams. Another plus is that you'll still have good dreams.
I hope to see you soon.
With love,
Ginny.
Harry smiled, a warm feeling spreading in his chest. Shaking his head at nothing in particular, he put the letter down beside Hermione's and turned to Ginny's gift. It was a long, narrow box. Tearing off the paper and opening it revealed a rose, with a long, thornless black stem and silky, pure white petals. "Wow, Ginny, thanks," he gasped, turning the rose over in his hands with care, despite it's apparent invulnerabilty. Smiling, he put the rose beside his pillow and vowed to give Ginny a hug when he next saw her.
The next letter was from Remus, and Harry opened it, dreading the contents.
Dear Harry,
Happy birthday, Harry. How are you? I'm going to start with the bad news and move onto the good news. Firstly, we've been in contact with other ministries and are attempting to gather allies. Even with the backing of our ministry, we are having little luck. The American Ministry has enough problems in their own country with vampiric and demonic revolts, but have offered their help should we need it. Other than that, we have managed to get a few ministries on our side. With the sheer amount of communities in the world, however, it is barely a victory.
The good news is that we'll be able to get you and bring you to headquarters sometime within the next two weeks. I cannot give you an exact date in case this letter falls into enemy hands.
I hope you're well and I'm looking forward to your next letter. Please remember, Harry, that you are not a burden, and you should not hesitate to write if your scar hurts or you need someone to talk to. Sirius was a good friend of mine, my only friend, really, and I lost him that day, too. Again, if you need anything, even if you think it's stupid, please write. We're here for you, Harry.
Remus.
Harry sighed and put the letter with the others. Remus had been friends with Sirius, yes, but there was no way that Remus could understand just exactly what Harry was going through.
Deciding to ponder on the depth and intensity of the letter at a later time, Harry turned to the package it had come with; it was large and suspiciously book-shaped, and Harry was greatly surprised when he opened it and found, not a true book, but a photo album of his parents' and Sirius' times at school. Holding back his tears, Harry turned the cover. The very first picture was of Sirius, Remus, his father, and Peter, probably when they were in their first or second year. Sirius had an arm slung around both James' and Remus' shoulders, and was at the same time giving bunny-ears to the nervously smiling Peter, who stood on James' other side. They were all smiling, making funny faces, and waving. Harry growled at Peter and was happy when the chubby boy jumped and ran behind the frame. The other three laughed silently, clapping and grinning up at Harry.
He turned the page over and found himself snickering softly, as well. Sirius had James in a headlock, and James was scowling while Sirius was laughing. It looked to be from around their second or third year. Remus stood behind Sirius, shaking his head with a barely-hidden smile. Peter wasn't in the picture. Perhaps he had taken it. His mother, Lily, also a second or third year, stood to the far off side of the picture, behind the marauders, and was scowling in their direction, looking murderous.
Harry decided to take a better look at the album later and put the cover back in place before carefully placing it beside Ginny's rose on his pillow. He opened the mysterious letter next, all the while wondering how any owl could have possibly supported the large box it had come attached to. He was shocked to find Dumbledore's loping script.
Harry,
Happy birthday, my boy. The order wishes you a happy birthday, too. How are you holding up? I hope your summer is not going too badly.
I'm sure that Remus has already mentiong that if you have any visions, or your scar bothers you, or something else happens that you wish to talk about, you are to contact either him or myself. Do not hesitate to write if something bothers you. I am here to help you.
Enough of my babbling. I hope you enjoy these gifts. The order members pitched in and bought the lot, and they were not easy to find. I hope you find them useful and that you are not to upset with everything that has happened. Remember, everything happens for a reason, and all things come to a grand finish in the end, with everybody content with the way it has ended.
Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore.
Harry was not sure whether or not to be angry, and so he decided that apathy was best and put the letter aside. After staring at the box for several long minutes, he pushed himself off the bed and sat on the floor beside it. He opened the box and pulled out the contents - four separate boxes.
Opening the largest box, which was quite heavy and had probably weighed down the box, he found a large, old-appearing book with peeling letters that spelled out Legends of the Dragon: From Bloodstones to Dragonriders. Harry ran his hands over the cover, fascinated. After putting the large book on the floor next to him and throwing aside the empty box, he pulled the next box towards himself.
The next gift was a book as well - A Complete Guide to Other Magical Communities. "Wow," said harry. He had a shrewd idea why he had been given this book about various magical communities - these were the kinds of creatures he would be fighting alongside and against in the war. He stared at the book for a while before putting it aside and reaching for the two smaller boxes.
The larger of the two held within it a small note and a dark purple box, not unlike one used for storing jewelry. He unfolded the note and read:
Harry,
This necklace will warn you when your friends are in danger by glowing blue. It is also said to bring good luck.
Enjoy, and use with caution.
Harry opened the box and gasped in wonder. Attached to a long, golden chain was a griffin pendant. The griffin, like the chain, was gold, and in a position that suggested it was about to take flight, with its wings spread and its knees bent. Its eyes were small, sharply cut emeralds. "Thanks," he whispered. He put the necklace around his neck. It felt pleasently warm against his chest. Smiling, he put the note aside and opened the second box.
Another note fluttered out:
Dear Harry,
This is a bloodstone. It is the last drop of blood that a dragon, in this case a Ukranian Ironbelly, bleeds before it dies. They're highly sensitive to evil, and will turn cold when danger is near. There are, according to the man who gave it to me, other magical properties that it possesses I'm not quite sure of all of them, as bloodstones are different than liquid dragon blood. They're extremely rare, Harry, so be careful and keep an eye out for thieves. You don't have to worry about it being destroyed, as bloodstones are concentrated magic and quite invulnerable.
Put it to good use!
Harry turned the box over and let the stone tumble into his hand. It was a perfect sphere, and dark red, the color of blood. It was just smaller than his palm, and was very warm. It must be because dragons are warm in life, he mused. Their blood must stay warm even after death. Or maybe it is just extremely magical. He made a mental note to thank Dumbledore and stored the stone in the pocket of his vest. It was warm over his heart, and he smiled.
Still smiling, he collapsed onto his bed and leaned against the wall, pulling the last package into his lap. After first putting his school letter aside, he opened Hagrid's.
Dear Harry,
I hope your having a great summar, Harry. Mine's not been too bad. I'm on another mission for Dumbledore, recruiting other magical creatures. That's all I can say for now.
Enjoy your present. It's elven. Don't forget to visit me when you get to Hogwarts!
Hagrid.
Harry put the letter with the others and dragged the long, narrow box across his bed to his side. Elven? From the elves? Thoughtfully, Harry unwrapped the gift, and gasped again. In the narrow box lay a sword. It was deadly beautiful. The keen edges of the blade, which was of a percular deep emerald color, curved gracefully to a sharp point. The blade was tapered with the shape of a leaf and bore a raised midrib that resembled the leaf stem. The gold of the handle grip was inlaid with silver patterned plants and leaves that twisted along it. It was at least twice the length of his arm.
Harry, a note that fluttered out of the box began,
You be careful with this, Harry! It's made of elven steel, and it's sharper than a normal sword and very dangerous. From what the elves tell me, its name has been lost and it had belonged to the last dragonrider. That's why the blade is emerald - the dragon was supposedly emerald as well. According to the elves, the sword presented is the color of the dragon, and for some reason, they insisted that you have this sword, and not the one that I had picked out. There isn't any proof of the existence of the dragonriders, but I'm not going to anger the elves saying so. The weakest elf could easily overpower a human, and the stronger ones can take on giants. It's light as a feather, and stronger and deadlier than any sword men could make. It's eternally sharp. Be careful. Use it wisely.
Hagrid.
Carefully, Harry stood up, holding the sword out in front of him. Like Hagrid had written, it was very light in weight. Very carefully, he swung it around. The handle fit his hand as if it had been made for him. The balance of the sword was perfect; it was like an extension of his arm and even Harry, who had not seen or touched a sword since he had dispatched the basilisk with one back in his second year at Hogwarts, knew that it was the perfect sword. The moonlight glinted off the blade, catching Harry's eye. It was as if the moonlight and the sword were dancing. Smiling, Harry turned to put the sword back in his box, but stopped when he caught sight of his window, or rather, the creature sitting in it.
It was like a miniature dragon; it was only two feet long, with a wingspan twice that, and looked oddly off balance. It was colored pure gold and its eyes were liquid black. Harry grabbed up his wand but, before he could do anything, he met the dragon's eyes.
As if possessed, he transferred his wand into the same hand as the sword, and reached out and touched the small dragon on the top of its triangular head.
The dragon released a small roar; some fiery sparks flew from its nose. Then everything went black.
Author's Note Two: Was the end rushed? The first chapter was also a little slow - six pages about opening presents? Sorry! Things will be set into motion really soon. Everything (well, not everything) will be explained in the next chapter. The person who can tell me what Harry has with him gets cookies - I have chocolate chip and sugar cookies, so take your pick!
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