Chapter 19

He had heard stories from his dad's wildlife rehabilitation friends at the ministry about what a terror baby dragon's could be. He'd even had his own rather un-fond memories of Hargrid's not so little Norwegian Ridgeback whom he had helped smuggle out of Hogwarts in his very first year. That had been absolutely exhausting, aggravating, scary and painful and Ron had decided not to have anything to do with dragon's ever again. He had even questioned his brothers sagacity for ever wanting to work with the dreadful things. Then there had been the time with the Wizard cup and he had been so terrified for Harry…he steered away from that memory. The point was he hadn't been at all happy with being anywhere near a baby dragon the first time around, therefore; the fact that he had spent over a day trudging slowly back to his shelter with a baby dragon following him (cautiously) the entire way, had him in a sort of stunned state of denial.

Oh his fairies had been delighted with his decision to let the dragon follow him home, but he really didn't care what they thought. They had fluttered off and come back with all sorts of dead rats and other rodents and Ron didn't want to entertain where or how they acquired them. The little tyrant was more then happy to crunch down every single one. Whip had thrummed his happiness and Ron was beginning to suspect that he was made from some kind of dragon parts (most likely the tail end if that were the case, though he had no idea). He was still having trouble wrapping his mind around the fact that it had him actually communicating with dragons.

When Ron had finally pushed through the hidden doorway and into his cave shelter he just didn't care that the baby dragon followed him right in and happily curled onto the floor along one wall. Ron chose to ignore it as he crawled onto the make shift cot he had scrounged up and piled with a used duvet from a thrift store he had been to (he didn't want to use the sleeping bag he had lifted from Ireland, but he hadn't thrown it out; it was off in a pile of other things along the back corner). It was the first time he had slept for a solid six hours in over two years, but waking up had scared the freckles off him. Having a fire breathing dragon panting heavily by your face with a nice big row of shiny razor-sharp teeth at eye level tended to do that to a person. He was proud to say he didn't scream, he instead executed a perfectly planned flip that sent him sailing over the creatures body and had him scrambling out his door in a most respectfully panicked way.

He had come to a stop outside only because he had tripped over a pile of dead rodents that had been generously piled in front of the doorway by Horns and Howly. He had then plunked himself on a log and stared in remorse as the dragon happily mowed through his dinner with zest. It made Ron a bit queezy to watch at first, but he got over it fast enough. It had been the same with Norbert.

That had all taken place four months ago, and Ron had come to the conclusion that his dragon was not like the other dragons. His dragon was a bit bent in the head (Because what kind of dragon actually willingly hung out with a person? Sure Norbert had, but he'd been born into that situation, and he'd been a little bugger about it too.). It hadn't been easy learning how to handle him, he was just as dangerous as Norbert had been, snapping at Ron's limbs whenever he felt playful (Ron figured that, with dragon hide being so strong, this was never an issue with its mother) or when he had started teething. The teething began after the first week Ron had started trying to raise it, and he had used all of his agility to stay out of the damned things way. In the end he had learned that if he communicated with it through the whip they could come to a sort of understanding with each other that eventually had the dragon comprehending Ron's basic vocabulary. After three months they didn't need Whip's help in the simple communication, learning how to read each other through stances and looks. Besides this Ron wasn't sure that, even with Whips help, they would be capable of real conversation. It was much more like a sharing of feelings to get the point across, and even then the spirited creature didn't always seem to understand what Ron was getting at.

Imagine, being friends with a dragon who's idea of fun was trying to knock you down with its three tipped tail. It bloody hurt, and more then once Ron had been forced to resort to draining its energy so it didn't accidentally kill him. He supposed it was good practice, but it made him right edgy and he couldn't sleep at all until the next day.

He had named the dragon Forge, in honour of his twin brothers (which he missed terribly and tried not to think about) and because the thing had a mouth that could melt steal. It had taken Ron two months to get him to understand that fire could kill him, much like its mother had died. It had stopped trying to purposely cook Ron then, which was appreciated. Fortunately it seemed to have a natural aversion to burning its habitat when it snorted flames. It had lit the ground on fire a few times and had pounced on the flames, stomping them to death as though it were a game. When it had lit a tree on fire it had (in a most disgusting and unexpected way) spit brown phlegm at the blaze, instantly dousing it. Well, Ron supposed that was handy, seeing as if one could start a fire it should be able to put it out.

Feeding had quickly turned into a nightmare as his blazing extinguisher had grown up fast (faster then Ron had anticipated) and had disinterested with simple rodents. Perhaps it was its odd fondness of pine needles that kept it from realizing that it could go out and hunt (Pine needles? Utterly bent this one was!). Ron had had to roam deep into the woods (far from his cave) with his critter following happily behind, its bright orange and brown body waddling on powerful back legs. Whenever they reached a clearing Forge would spread his wings and flap them, pull himself up right and sort of hop along the path. Ron had almost been crushed the first time his dragon had done this: he had turned to find a thick shiny brown belly and flailing stubby orange arms headed right at him. Howly and Horny had just knocked him out of the way of becoming a Roncake and Ron had adapted to looking over his shoulder even more frequently than was his norm.

Despite that incident Ron had had to teach Forge how to hunt so that he would hopefully leave and find a life elsewhere (because while Ron might have admitted to sort of liking the dragon at that point, the thing didn't make hiding from the outside world that easy. Someone was bound to notice a dragon lurching around.). He had thought it would be hard, finding prey of some kind, when out of nowhere a black furred animal the size of a dog lunged at him from a tree. Forge had the creature in his large jaws and down his throat with a speed that made Ron extremely thankful that he was on his side. His Dragon had a thick neck, but it could stretch out and whip about as fast as his tail. After that realization he seemed to take it onto himself to get his own meals, meandering off for a day at a time and leaving Ron alone. At first he had fretted about his dragons safety, then he had spent an entire hour thinking up different ways to call himself stupid. Fretting about a dragon was about as pointless as drowning a fish, you just didn't need to worry. However, with Forge being away Ron had more time on his hands, and that didn't bode well with him.

Now, however, was not one of those moments. Ron gazed over the cliffs edge, his hair whipping about his face from the strong wind. It was getting colder, fall had already gripped the mountains, but Ron had forgone his jacket (as he had most summer) in favour of his brown cargo pants and a dirty rust coloured tee. He was beginning to wish he had at least worn a long sleeved shirt.

He was very familiar with this cliff, he had come here quite often when he needed a good hike to get rid of his excess energy. It had originally taken him an entire day to find this location, now he could make it there in about five hours. It was the same cliff he had stood upon before being led to Forge and his mother, and it was the best place he could think of for this lesson. He looked away from the edge, squinting in the sunlight at his brown and orange friend.

"Well," he called out and Forge looked at him. Ron nodded into the expanse over the edge. "Off ye go." The dragon stared at him a moment and then lost interest, looking back out over the cliff at the mountains in the far distance curiously. Ron waited expectantly a moment, but when it became apparent that the creature wasn't going to move he sighed and tried again.

"Forge! Over the cliff with you, you've got to learn how to fly sometime!" Forge didn't even acknowledge him that time. "Oi! Ye big stupid oaf! Go! Jump! Fly!" Ron jumped up and down a bit, and even flapped his arms ridiculously to try and get his point across. Forge seemed entertained by this and started a little shuffle on his powerful front arms, scratching up the ground beneath him and bobbing his head in an odd sort of way.

"No! This isn't a dance class, it's a flying class and if you don't jump and learn to fly soon yer never gonna get off the ground!" Ron gesticulated over the cliff some more, careful not to lose his balance in the strong wind and becoming frustrated by the lack of action being taken. It wasn't that difficult a point to grasp: jump off the cliff, spread those fantastically massive wings, and fly. There was nothing to it. When it became apparent that Forge was not understanding him he silently ordered Whip to unfurl from its thick coil around his wrist and easily flicked it over to wrap around Forge's front leg.

Ron looked at the dragon and thought about flight, hoping it would get the point across. He felt confusion, excitement, alertness, but no real understanding of what Ron was trying to say. In the end he shook Whip from Forge's limb and the dragon turned back to stare out over the cliff again, like a big dog seeing something across a lake. Whip slickly wrapped up Ron's arm again, this time stopping just below his arm pit. Ron glared at the dragon; he hadn't come all this way to not accomplish his goal. For a moment he considered trying to push him over, but he didn't relish the idea of an irritated and/or aggressive dragon, not to mention that the brute was heavy. They might be well acquainted, but Forge still had a dragon's temper and instinct and he often reacted without thought to Ron's safety. Well, the way Ron reacted without thought to others safety made that the one trait they shared.

He looked over his shoulder at the fairies who had insisted on this location for the leap of faith. It had been their idea to come out here in the first place, so they could figure out what to do next. How they thought he could accomplish this was beyond him.

"Well, he isn't biting. Do you have any great ideas or can I go home and eat that fish I caught this morning?" They looked at him blankly and he turned his back on them in irritation. They were great at starting things but sometimes they just didn't think their plans through. Hermione would have known what to do. He glared out at the horizon, refusing to continue that thought. Besides, Ron sure as hell wouldn't jump off this cliff so he honestly couldn't see any reason for Forge being interested in trying it. Fine, he'd had enough of this.

"I'm going bac-oofff." He didn't finish his sentence as two heavy objects smashed into his back, knocking the air from his chest and sending him hurtling head first over the cliff. The force of the blow sent him far from the face but he didn't notice this as he was flailing his arms about in the air, free falling to his death. The air refused to catch in his lungs, the trees below were rushing closer by the second and somewhere in the back of his mind he thought he should apparate but he couldn't get his mind around the concept as the ground was coming up so fast. He was stuck, wind whipping into his eyes and painfully blurring his vision, a high whistling was assaulting his ears and his stomach was stuck in a moment of suspension that made him queasy in a way he had never been before. Then, in the blink of an eye, all his senses came crashing back into him and he was jerked to a violent halt in mid air, squeezing the last of his depleted air from his lungs. For a moment his vision swam and then his world greyed and went dark.

When he came too he was lying back at the top of the cliff, sprawled awkwardly on his side with one arm over his head and the other half pinned beneath him. A sharp rock was digging into his ribs and he felt a bit queasy. The world swam before his eyes a moment as he opened them, but when he was able to focus he noticed that a large, sharply clawed foot was standing less then a foot away. Cautiously he looked up to determine which way he would have to move to avoid being crushed, and he was met with a thick, hot and slimy blue tongue that slurped across his neck and face. He froze, waiting in confusion to see what happened next only to have Forge lean over and nudge him in the stomach with his snout, forcing him to sprawl onto his back.

"Hey, I'm okay." He tried to reassure him, wondering himself if that were the case as his memory of the last dew minutes came back to him. He looked around angrily, trying to find the sources of his aggression and trying to wipe the dragon drool from his face. When he couldn't see them anywhere he swore and pushed himself to a sitting position, glaring up at the dragon that was hovering over him. "They pushed me! Those smarmy little flobber turds!" He yelled and struggled to his feet, looking around for them once more. He swayed dangerously a moment, feeling light headed as his vision darkened briefly and then snapped back to focus. His face was hot in his anger and no doubt beat red as he glared at the trees searchingly. They had disappeared, avoiding his wrath, and that was perhaps the best decision they'd made all day!

"The next time they come around, do us a favour and roast them would you? Bloody fairies." He stepped away from the dragon then, noticing a pain in his left arm that hadn't been there before. He looked at it carefully, expecting to see a cut or scratch of some kind, and was momentarily bewildered by what was there. He brought his arm up for a closer inspection. This was something new.

He carefully probed the large patch of skin on his forearm, feeling around the imbedded pieces that were sticking out from all directions. The shimmering surface of the very thin diamond shaped protrusions was veined with delicate brow-orange lines, and while they didn't look like they had dug far beneath the skins surface he knew they were razor sharp. He looked at Forge, who seemed to have lost interest in him now that he was up and moving. There was no doubt that these were his scales, but they must have come from his massive arms as Ron hadn't really seen them anywhere else on his leathery body. Ron reached over his shoulder to feel where the stinging in his back had been before pulling away quickly, nicking the tip of his finger. He looked at the dragon in amazement, suddenly realising that he had jerked to a halt in his death fall because Forge had caught him in his massive claws. He stared in astonishment as the massive animal exhaled a cloud of smoke, the deep orange spines along his back were standing right on end, making him look absolutely deadly, and his head swayed back and forth as he keenly gazed out.

The bugger had learned how to fly to save his life, and he had pretty much kissed him! He didn't know why, but Ron suddenly felt elated and he couldn't control the stupid grin that split his face. His dragon had learned how to fly!

"Go on." He encouraged as Forge turned his inquisitive eyes on Ron. Ron pointed out over the horizon. "Go." The animal looked away and then back at Ron, uncertain. Ron let his grin slip away, understanding his friends dilemma. He walked carefully up to him and waited a moment for the massive head to lower to his not inconsiderable height. The dragon's snout was warm and leathery under his hands, just like its mothers had been, only he had a different patchwork of orange drifting over his brown face. Ron looked him in the eye a moment, trying to convey his thanks though he wasn't sure if it would be understood, before he stepped back again and once more pointed out into the open sky.

"Go." He was almost knocked off his feet by the force of wind created as Forge lifted his massive form off the ground and propelled himself over the edge, dragging some small rocks over the cliff with him. Ron watched until his form was no more then a dot in the far distance and then he apparated back to his home. He spent the rest of the evening picking the sharp dragon scales from his flesh and tending the wounds (though they were small and would have healed by the next morning without his care). He cooked his normal bland meal over a small fire with an old wrought iron pan he had acquired months before. He collected some firewood and he went to his bunk where he perched silently, refusing to miss the dragon that had moved on with his life. When Howlite and Hornblend emerged from under the sleeping bag in the corner of this tiny place Ron didn't chase them away as they deserved. He felt utterly alone.

TBC

Well, I'm really glad that everyone seems to be enjoying my fairies and the whip! I felt that Ron needed a little help and since I'm too mean to give him any of his friends back I decided they would do ;)

catc10, to answer your question I am going to say that there are some injuries that no creature can recover from. It comes to a point where we need to question exactly how much is believable and how overboard we can go. And saying that is probably the first dig of the shovel that is creating a nice big hole for me to jump into :)

Harry Lvr, I forget that the entire world doesn't revolve around my own seasons ;) Here's the basic break down of the seasons I worked with (and I'm assuming that it's the same in Romania): Officially Summer starts July 21 (but in actuality it's from mid June on). Fall is September 21 (but cold weather starts in Oct.). Winter is Dec 21 (but it's Jan. that it's deadly cold…and Feb…and March…until the end of marchish) and spring is March 21 (but in reality it's more like late May). However, this is just Ontario, which is the centre of Canada not on the coast (where province's like NewFoundland are hit Hard.) or the west coast where Vancouver has easier weather because of the Pacific. So, geography is over…I hope that helps a bit!

I'm very glad that the scene with the Dragon in the last chapter went over well! I try to make things emotional but you know how sometimes you question whether it's branching into general sappiness? I was very happy to see that this wasn't the case!

Blaaat, welcome back ;) that comment wasn't directed at you, I knew you'd come back eventually (I also always wonder where's I'd be if I didn't procrastinate so much :) The entire issue with Giles did emerge and end really abruptly didn't it. I know I could have stretched it out longer, but there was so much I wanted to put in this story that I didn't allow myself to get to far into it. I tend to do that a lot in my writing and it's something I'm working to change, so I apologise if future scenarios are also abrupt.

Chapter 14, with Tonks and Ron's POV's…I was trying to be tricky ;)

As for the title of this story…I want to change it again. But don't worry, I won't! At least not until it's been completely posted and done with. I'm thinking that "Wayward Son" is more appropriate, but who knows what it will be when I finally get around to changing it again ;)

Again, thank you everyone!

Next Update: August 31, 2005