31 Days of Flash Fiction Repository

Summary: Short stories for 31 Days of Flash Fiction

Beta Love: Dragon and the Cold Water Bottle Torture, Dutchgirl01 the Busiest Bee that Ever Buzzed, Commander Shepard the Winter Soldier

A/N: Each story will be a separate chapter to feed my laziness and desire not to post that many new stories for the same event.

The Highest Mountains

"K2 is not some malevolent being, lurking there above the Baltoro, waiting to get us. It's just there. It's indifferent. It's an inanimate mountain made of rock, ice, and snow. The "savageness" is what we project onto it, as if we blame the peak for our own misadventures on it."

― Ed Viesturs

Prompt: "If you find yourself in need of help, blow out the candle and ask the smoke to find me. But ask quickly. It can't stay long."

Prompt 2: "I don't need to know."

"I know, but you want to."

The smoke reached me quickly.

It always would.

It was easy to see from this high on the Earth.

It was cold, you couldn't help but see it.

Magical or normal, what reached this place was a bit of a miracle.

People had a thing for mountains. They saw climbing them as feats of strength rather than stupidity. They were not made for the high places—they were not born to it.

If they'd really wanted to rid of Riddle quickly, they should have just teleported him to the top of Everest without a wand and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

He would have gotten to feel like he was on top of the world—for a few minutes until the cold set in and his lungs seized up wanting for delicious oxygen.

He was already as mad as a March hare, so altitude sickness would have probably seemed normal to him.

I shrugged my shoulders and stepped out of the crevice that was my entryway letting my true form consume me. It was small and almost insignificant, but that is what all of my kind did to hide their homes from prying eyes. I leapt into the cold, revelling in the frigid feel of cold over my scales and in my mane. I loved the feel of ice as it tried to freeze the moisture in my mouth. Ice would break off my mouth and fall down the mountain.

As a hatchling, I remember sliding down the mountain with my parents looming over me. We had hook-claws on our wings as well as our legs. Our lower belly was lined in scales that when flexed, would cut into the ice and snow like velcro or crampons, and it would arrest any uncontrolled descent that wasn't on the wing.

We were perfectly built for such conditions.

We didn't require oxygen like mortals did.

Once we matured, we were perfectly suited to our mountains.

For life high above what humans called the "death zone."

This place was inhospitable to many of those that would threaten us—nature was merciless in its defence of the highest places.

And as many of the people that pushed for the summits in our high homes—few left unharmed in some way. Fingers. Toes. Loss of friends. Loss of their own lives as they lost sunlight.

Was the view from such peaks a solace right before their death?

I couldn't say.

I had grown up with such views. To me, it was home. One could say it took the world of magic to impress me—and it had. Human magic was different from the magic in wyrms. We were born with ours. Fully functional. Instinctive. Powerful. They had to be—we had to be as inhospitable as our environment had made us.

My parents nested atop a different mountain, raising my brothers and sisters nestled in the crags of what the humans called Everest. The mountains were home, but my parents would fly long to snatch food from the lower zones that supported life. And while humans liked to deliver themselves to our home, we didn't eat them. One, they really didn't offer much in the way of sustenance, and two—they were so much unnecessary drama.

And wyrms—we hated drama.

When it was time to Obliviate my parents, I just told them it was time for them to take that vacation to Australia before they returned to their mountain. They wished me well, and told me not to eat anyone.

They'd always told me that humans tasted horrible. Who was I to argue?

They were worried, of course—I wasn't yet fully grown. That meant I was mortal, and many a young dragon had died, never making it to maturity. I knew they didn't want me to become a casualty. Unlike some dragons that supported the "the weak die, do not mourn them" philosophy, my parents cared for each and every one of us, doing their best to give us the best chance of growing up to claim our own mountain and, hopefully, a mate.

My parents kept pestering me about that part. I had my own mountain but no mate—and I was really picky.

I knew they wondered why—it wasn't like dragons were everywhere.

But I didn't want just any dragon.

I wanted a true partner. A lover. Someone who enjoyed books and understood the subtle beauty of magic you just had to learn.

Maybe I would be the jenny that snubbed all suitors, never accepting a hefty pile of dead yaks as an appropriate tribute toward a future.

Don't get me wrong, I could respect a hefty pile of dead yaks, but—I wanted more.

But, if my old professor was lighting the signal smoke boon—something I had given him for saving our lives from a werewolf and uh—tolerating me setting him on fire—

I had never expected him to actually light it.

He didn't seem the type of person to ever ask anyone for help—or admit he needed it.

Still, he had, or I wouldn't be feeling the thrum in my scales.

That candle was crafted of wax from my scales. Between that and my magic, there could be no mistake.

But why was he up here? On my mountain?

I banked and followed the tingle in my scales.

Humans called this place K2. There was another across the pond in a place called Canada, but this—but this was the infamous mountain whose reputation for being utterly merciless toward interlopers overshadowed even Everest.

Things did not live here that were not built to withstand the incredibly severe conditions, and no matter what humans believed, they were simply not built for it. They had to bring plenty of supplies including bottles of oxygen, multiple layers of heavy clothing, sturdy ropes and gear—all for some intangible, driving need to reach the top of that summit.

Summit fever, they called it.

Perhaps it was a sickness.

I saw a splotch of black upon the fields of white and stone, and I knew it was him. He wasn't dressed for the mountain, which meant someone or something had brought him here—wholly unprepared.

I snatched him up in my mouth, snow, rocks and all, and carried him home with me.

Fortunately for him, he hadn't been out there for long. Also fortunately for him, I could fly without the aid of a broom or spell. Probably most importantly, I had not been unprepared for needing to bring him to my home in case of an emergency.

I hated brooms. They made me feel unstable.

I belonged to the skies, but not straddling a narrow piece of wood to keep me aloft.

I used to play with my cousins when the adults would gather for tea and yaks, and we would belly slide down the Eiger having the greatest time. When we reached the almost bottom, we would fling ourselves into the air and soar back up to the top so we could do it again. We'd play hide and seek on the north face, where more rock than snow made it challenging, but we still had to be careful.

More people tried to climb that north side—it had become quite popular. And while they couldn't see us unless they were more sensitive to the otherly—it was riskier. So, we began to chase each other across the skies, creating storms and raining inclement weather down below as was our nature and lot in life.

"Where am I?" My former Professor's voice was rough and groggy.

I let out a soft wuff of air. "Karakoram Two," I replied. "Also known as K2, northwest of the Karakoram Range, the Baltistan region of Gilgit-Baltistan, Pakistan, arguably also part of China, depending on who you ask."

"Well, now I know it's really you, Miss Granger," his voice rasped, slightly better now after he took a fortifying swig of hot tea.

I wasn't a complete heathen just because I moved back to my mountain home—or rather to, but that was just a technicality.

He took the handful of raspberry jaffa cakes and made them disappear with utmost speed. I could have offered him something more—substantial, I suppose, but he seemed to really like them.

He looked at his hands and arms. "I am surprised I am not black with frostbite."

"As much as I'm sure you'd appreciate being the same colour as your usual attire, Professor, I did get to you in time."

"Severus," he said with a deep sigh. "I am not your teacher anymore."

"Hermione, then," I retorted. "Miss Granger makes me sound like an old hag in a shack with ninety-odd cats and no social life."

Severus snorted. "Do you want the truth of why I am here, or do you already know?"

I chuckled. "News is a bit scarce on K2, unless you mean the inevitable human mountaineering drama," I said.

"Oh excuse me!" one of my familiar sherpas exclaimed. "So sorry! Did not expect company!"

Dragons adopted sherpas or sherpa families in the high mountains. They were the only ones we allowed near our nests or in them. Such families usually dated back untold generations. K2 was relatively abandoned as a nesting site due to its popularity amongst human, but since I didn't eat humans, finding sherpas to coexist with me was much easier.

Imagine that.

In exchange for supplies of human nature, news, and first hand info on whatever crisis struck my mountain home from whatever side, I provided a place for their family to live inside the mountain with me. Shelter from the extreme cold and access to the various crevices existing on the mountainside, well hidden from interlopers by dragon magic.

I also protected them from the worst of the harshest storms. I could always tell when the storms were coming long before the weather forecasters could. It was my mountain, after all.

"It is fine," I reassured him. "Do you need anything?

"I just wanted to let you know," he said with a missing-tooth smile. "There is an expedition trying to make the summit today."

The man had fallen once as a teen and knocked out one tooth. He'd survived the fall, but his group had left him to die alone on the mountain, judging him too far gone to save (and too risky since he'd fallen into a crevice.)

I found him on my "porch" and took him in, warmed him up, and fed him tea and yak. He never left my side after that. He and his family bound themselves to me and my mountain because I cared for it—and them.

I made sure "my" sherpas wanted for nothing. They had the finest equipment, always had spares, and if they wanted new crampons or ropes, I didn't question it. They saved lives out there but most importantly, they lived to come home to their families.

Sometimes, when certain "clients" got a little overbearing about wanting their excessive amounts of equipment hauled up to whatever camp, I would provide them shortcuts or even let them take the tunnels inside the lair to other paths. If the weather was exceedingly nasty, I would let them load me up with supplies, and I would stealth fly them there, and they would tumble off me and unload and then pat my side to tell me to go before someone saw me.

They never did, but I appreciated the sentiment.

But they, like Severus, had a small enchanted candle I bid them to light if ever they truly needed me. Light it, and I would find them.

It would light without a match. It would light because of need. So even if they were passed out somewhere, I would find them.

I protected what was mine.

And wyrms—

We were possessive jerks.

"This is Pro—Severus Snape," I introduced. "He taught me potions when I was away at school.

"Severus, this is Pertemba Sherpa," I said, " he and his family live here in the mountain with me."

"Ah! You make medicines!" Pertemba exclaimed. He bowed with respect, pressing his palms together in a thank you gesture. "Pleased to meet you. I must go now. I have to fix the ropes along the route. Thankfully, they only want me up to camp three. They have some other alleged professional arranged for camp four and the summit."

The sherpa gave me that look that practically screamed "idiots."

I smiled. "Take the energy bars and enchanted gloves. I know how they like to overwork you as if a small fee comparatively means you are owned by them."

Pertemba shrugged. He was used to such things, but I didn't like to see him or his family being treated like second-class or slaves. What he did saved many lives, and people should treat that with the respect it deserved. He smiled at the mention of the bars and gloves. He appreciated that they were light and flexible with much more warming power than the big mitts that many had to wear to avoid the ravages of frostbite. It let him navigate the mountain more easily where every step could possibly be his last.

Honestly, I loved providing for them. They kept me company and told me stories, shared their culture, and pretty much adopted me into their family—even if it was me that allowed THEM to be in my mountain, draconically speaking.

I enchanted oxygen bottles for my parents' sherpas as well as their other equipment, too. Helping them helped my siblings, indirectly, and no dragon ever wanted to lose their favourite sherpas to something easily avoidable.

The mountains were dangerous enough without making it harder on them by sending them up unprepared or underpaid—

Pertemba's family, however, had a good life. And I made sure that they had excellent dental care whenever my parents visited.

Obviously.

Pertemba gave me that lopsided smile of his and dashed off with a speed that I envied. I swear they were adapted to the mountain as much as I was to a certain degree. They might not have the wings and an impervious hide, but they were remarkably resilient and strong. I could respect that.

"Where are we exactly?" Severus asked, confused.

I chuckled. "Inside K2," I said. "This is my home."

"You made a home—inside a mountain," he said tentatively.

"Feel free to look out the window," I said, gesturing to the thick curtain beside him.

He moved the heavy curtain over to see the enchanted window I had magicked into the ice and rock.

His lips pursed and he closed it immediately. "I see."

"I'm sure you have questions," I said.

"I don't need to know," he whispered.

"But you want to," I replied with amusement.

Severus grimaced. "I do find myself—curious."

"First tell me how you ended up on my mountain," I said.

Severus gave me the look when I said "my mountain" as if I was mad.

I could forgive him considering he'd been cast out onto my mountain like a sack of rotten potatoes.

He grimaced.

I brought out some more substantial food for him since he still looked hungry, providing the Nepali green bean sesame salad, some momo (plump meat dumplings that were my secret indulgence), and a bowl of sweetened yoghurt. That should get some protein and energy back into him. I had to thank Pertemba's family for spoiling me with a supply of tasty Nepalese foods. They could make a lot of hearty dishes with all the meat I brought home.

He tucked into that food like it was the last food he'd ever have, and with that, he started to actually speak of his situation.

"My survival was not—planned for," he said grimly. "And it did not please very many."

"So they threw you onto K2?"

Pretty extreme, even for wizards.

"I don't think they intended for K2 exactly—" he said thoughtfully. "They simply cast me into the most inhospitable place they could manage with their magic. The Antarctic ice sheet was probably a bit out of their skillset."

I must have made a puckered look, because he shook his head slightly. "They said," Just throw him on the tallest mountain over there!" as I recall."

I must have gawped at him because he just shrugged in response.

"Who does that?" I mean, who actually casts a spell that is so shoddily worded? My parents would have saved him if he'd been on Everest when my scent beacon alerted them, I suppose, but apparently they couldn't even get THAT right. K2 was simply the best they could manage.

It was like throwing a dart at Iceland and getting Svalbard instead. Sure they were geographically "close" but they were entirely different land masses!

"I think they were tipped off to my location after my retirement," Severus said thoughtfully. "The Ministry seemed to believe that new blood was needed at Hogwarts, so they retired Minerva and had her replaced."

I narrowed my eyes. "By?"

I don't think I'd ever seen Professor Snape so reluctant to say something.

"Neville Longbottom."

"And any headmaster can command the portraits to tell them whatever they know, can't they—" I said trailing off.

Severus nodded. "However, I don't think they had to be commanded. There are quite a number of loose-lipped portraits. Just because they are dead does not mean their portraits don't carry the same bias that they did in life."

There went all my closet dreams of a scorching hot night over the headmaster's desk with that man's utterly decadent voice crooning in my ear as he claimed me in every way possible—

Severus flushed immediately, and I suddenly knew that his reputation for being a Legilimens was more than just an idle rumour.

"You have a very moving voice," I admitted. I was caught red-handed as it were by my own thoughts. I might as well jenny up and confess. "And sensual hands."

I could smell the change in his demeanour even though his face was struggling to hide the evidence of his own desires. I wasn't a Legilimens, but I could smell lust quite easily.

Ah, so, he wasn't exactly uninterested in enjoying some time alone, either. Good to know.

Also, good, because if he was going to make me feel caught by my own hormonal thoughts, I was going to hold him accountable to his hormones, too, damnit.

He stared at me with those dark, dark black eyes. "You find me attractive?" He seemed—unsure. Shy even.

Bloody hell. I was a fully-grown jenny. I could admit that he still turned me on even over a decade after the war was done.

But if I succumbed to my desires, he might not wake up human the next day—

"Of course I find you attractive!" I spat. "You're tall, powerful, smell like black raspberries and parchment, India ink and snowmelt! You're highly intelligent and so bloody brilliant. And your voice makes me want to pounce you right here and Turn you into my mate forever!"

Did I say that?

Fuck.

Suddenly, he was so close, his nose brushing against my cheek. "And what if I find you—very, very attractive. Miss. Granger?"

Oh merciful gods, I was done. My tail popped out as my pointed ears sprouted from my head.

I'd held my human form for my entire schooling career, and now I couldn't hold it together facing this delicious specimen that could undo it all for me with the power of that voice so close to my skin.

"I have a confession to make," he rumbled against my ear.

My lips parted, and his covered them, and my hands hooked around his neck and pulled him closer. As he pulled away, his lips moistened and his tongue a little too long to be human—he smiled, his ivory teeth sharp and distinctly other. "I've wanted you as my mate since you saved my life at the end of the war."

He had huge funnelled ears—bat ears sticking out of his hair. A long, prehensile tail curled around mine making my eyes blow wide with kindled desire.

"You don't smell like a dragon—" I said with a tremble.

"I'm not," he rumbled. "I'm a giant, draconic bat."

"Oh," I replied, feeling shellshocked. "Kiss me again."

His dark gaze worked in tandem with a very masculine smile as I became infinitely glad that my mountain was built to accommodate two dragon-sized adults and future hatchlings.

If there was a burning curiosity as to whose mutagen would mutate the other first, it was lost in the heat of that moment when all I wanted was all of him, and he wanted the very all of me.

K2 shook with the sheer power of our mating, and Pertemba later said he was glad he had a feeling to stay off the mountain that day because apparently we caused an avalanche that knocked half the snow off K2.

How embarrassing—

"Let's go outside!" one eager black dragonbatling backpack cried as he clung to Pertemba.

"Pleaaaase!" a little white and brown dragonbatling begged cutely, corkscrewing her tail around Pertemba's waist.

Severus' face puckered as his spawn wrapped Pertemba around their little talons like putty.

A tail wrapped around the white and brown dragonbatling and yoinked her off the poor sherpa. "Come tell your grandmother about your day, Belinda," Mrs "Granger" said.

"B-ut!" the batling complained.

Mrs Granger took her into her mouth and trudged out into the blustery skies.

"Alaric," Mr Granger rumbled.

The black dragonbatling clung desperately to Pertemba, attempting to merge with his back.

"Good thing we know magic," Hermione said, pointing her tail at Pertemba, and a blast of magic turned him into a great ice dragon the like of every dragonic Chippendales calendar of the world.

Pertemba zoomed out the portal crevice as the baffled dragonbatling screeched, "WAIT FOR ME, UNCLE PERTEMBA!" before beating his wings frantically to catch up.

Severus gave Hermione a passionate kiss. "It won't be a good day for the climbers today," he said, somehow making it sound like a sensual holiday.

Hermione mrrred. "Promise?"

Severus smiled toothily. "Always."

And they lived peak-edly ever after.

ROAR!