I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the related characters. The Harry Potter series is created by JK Rowling and owned by Warner Bros. This fanfiction is intended for entertainment only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights of the original Harry Potter story belong to Warner Bros.
Beta'd by Red Renera, any and all errors in grammar, spelling and plot are mine
A/N Several family losses and a massive case of writers block contributed to a long time away from the keyboard.
The Boy With the Dragon Tattoo
Chapter Four
The dirt path made for uneven footing as Harry trudged down to Hogsmeade two weeks later. His arm was almost completely healed, and the essence of murtlap was all gone. He couldn't resist a smirk at what transpired that day. He wasn't thinking about the detour to buy chocolate either. That had been the best kiss of his young life, completely trumping the sobbing mess of a disaster that had been Cho.
As he walked, his thoughts turned to the tattoo he had developed some reservations about. The immediate ramifications were ever-present in his mind, not the least of which was how he would reveal them to his friends and probably everyone else if Hermione got hysterical. Or was he doomed to wear long sleeve T-shirts for the next two years? Also, and more importantly, was that it spoke to him. Much more than before. It had been a comfort in times of stress and danger once, but now he was concerned.
The colours were vivid against the black of the dragon's body. They seemed so real, and it had started to move around his body. It seemed to tire after each journey and returned to its original spot regularly but roamed further for longer each time. Harry had grown used to the odd feelings that the creature engendered in him and could largely ignore the urgings he felt. Although the current one was a tax on his patience; a mix of annoyance and disappointment.
The fingers of his left hand twitched and Harry had the crazy notion that his arm would lash out and grab a tree branch as he passed to stop his progress. Harry sighed, stopped and looked down at his hand. The dragon had moved so its body was encircling his forearm with its head on the back of his hand. He held his arm so he was eye to eye with the annoying piece of artwork.
"You don't want me to get a second tattoo or is it the dog you object to?"
Harry had the oddest feeling that the dragon had shrugged in a flat two dimensional plane.
Should be a dragon.
The words didn't constitute a voice, more like a collection of ideas and emotions which gave Harry enough of a gist to hold a conversation. It was like a thought that he couldn't touch, see, feel or hear but still knew what it meant.
"But it's what I want. I don't have a connection with another dragon, I want to remember Sirius."
Put the grim on your ribs close to your heart or on your arse, but you should get a dragon. A red dragon.
"But why?"
I know not, I am guided just as I guide you.
"Guided by what?"
I know not.
"This isn't bloody guiding, I would be able to say no to a suggestion."
Harry's grumble received an amused feeling, and he tried to get the last word in.
"And how much gold are you going to contribute to the third tattoo?"
It depends if you hand over the gold with your left hand or not.
"I'll do something with my left hand that you won't like."
You're right-handed, it'll just feel odd.
Harry rolled his eyes and continued to grumble.
"My life is so weird."
The village of Hogsmeade hoved into view within a few minutes of walking and Harry sped up, half in anticipation and half to warm up. Winter had truly come to Hogwarts, and a touch of frost lay on everything. His mood lifted for the first time in days at the thought of answers, and he almost skipped as he crossed from frozen dirt path to icy cobblestones.
Harry glanced down at his watch, saw that he was early, and carried on his theme of muttering to himself.
"Sam won't mind, it's not even ten yet. I can't see her with a client before at this time on a Saturday. I hope not anyway."
'I've got a few questions,' he thought.
Harry looked around Hogsmeade's Main Street and didn't see another soul. He shrugged and entered the shop which caused a distant tinkle to sound. Harry stood in the middle of the shop and opened his mouth to announce himself when Sam appeared from the back room.
"Hang on, Harry, I'm just finishing up a client. Go have a cuppa. You know where the kettle is. Two sugars for me, please!"
Her laughter floated through the door and Harry shoulders slumped, he shook his head, his hopes dashed and detoured to the kitchen.
"Is that him?"
Harry paused as he reached for the kettle, he finished the motion and carried it over to the sink to fill it with tap water.
"Just sit still, Clare. I'm almost done, then you can objectify the school boy."
The kettle was back on the hob and on the boil. The blue and yellow flames caressed the pan supports and the blue stainless steel. Harry's eyes widened and a faint flush tinged his cheeks.
'Oh my god, of course she told her friends!'
"Hey, you're the one who kissed him, not me."
Harry had reached the table and almost missed the chair, he steadied himself on the table and chair back and heaved himself into it.
"And I really wish you hadn't got me drunk enough to tell you."
'I'm not sure if that's better.'
Harry heard a snigger, he flushed completely red and he buried his face in his arms.
'Oh god.'
He felt a sense of amusement that wasn't his. He lifted his head just enough to glare his betrayal at the possessed dragon on his arm.
"Well, you were refusing to say anything. You're not a doctor or a lawyer, no such thing as a tattoo artist-client confidentiality agreement—Ouch! What was that for?"
"Your cheek."
Harry looked up as the kettle whistled, decided that being busy and distracted was better and went to make the tea. It was something that he had drilled into him by Aunt Petunia and the thought of her horseface distracted him from his embarrassment enough that he started to calm down.
"Huh, what do you know? She is useful," he mumbled to himself.
There was a few minutes of quiet from the other room, with only the humming of the needle to accompany his clattering through drawers and cupboards as he looked for spoons and sugar.
"You're enjoying yourself far too much at my expense. You're done. Go and ogle, then you can go to Asda and replace the wine we drank."
"Fine, fine."
The timing was perfect. As he turned with two cups in hand, a blonde head appeared in the door with a salacious grin on a beautiful face that he didn't recognise.
"Hello there! So you're the one Sammy was refusing to talk about. It was so much fun dragging the details out of her."
She sashayed across the kitchen and plucked one of the mugs from Harry's hand. Several rings glittered as she moved, and Harry had to step back at the force of nature that swept towards him. Her shoulder-length hair swayed and shimmered, and her figure-hugging sundress split down one leg to show off an ankle to hip tattoo of what looked like a Japanese warrior and a fish.
"Thanks," she said, and took a swig.
She flinched and gasped. Her face screwed up in pain, then she thrust the mug back at him. Her other hand clamped over her mouth, the hot liquid leaking through. Her facade was punctured and her dignity in tatters.
"Ah! Too hot!"
Harry couldn't help himself even with his mind full of worries and snorted.
Sam came up behind her and slapped her friend on the arse as she reached around her and took the cup Harry offered.
"Serves you right. Trying to scare the poor boy!"
"Hey!"
Clare clamped her free hand to her abused behind. Harry was too amused to be embarrassed or concerned about his possessed tattoo. His chuckles carried him over to one of the four chairs around the small wooden table and Sam followed with Clare in tow where they both sat opposite him.
"Harry Potter, Hogwarts' resident bad boy, meet Clare Wainwright, klutz extraordinaire. Both in the tattoo fraternity."
Harry slung his jacket on the back of his chair and held his hand out to Clare.
"I am not a klutz. I'm very graceful. Usually."
"Maybe when you're drunk."
Clare glared at her friend as she retrieved her hand.
"Nice to meet you, Clare. Careful, the tea's hot."
Clare's smile turned into a glare as Sam snorted tea out of her nose.
"Oh, har de har."
The initial shock of amusement faded and Harry's smile dropped fractionally. He over corrected and flashed a beaming smile and was about to ask a question that hadn't formed fully in his mind.
"What's up, Harry? Any problems with Puff the magic dragon?"
Sam smirked at Harry and he felt a surge of annoyance which took Harry a few seconds to realise that it hadn't come from him.
"A few things, but they can wait."
Harry took a fortifying swig and gave her a brave smile and flicked his gaze to Clare. The women exchanged a look and Clare nodded at Sam's head tilt.
"Maybe another time, Harry, I've got wine to buy and you look far too serious for a Saturday morning."
"Sorry, it's been a hard few weeks and I've got a few questions."
Clare flapped a hand at him and kissed Sam on the cheek before she rose.
"Nice to meet you, Harry, maybe I can get you two to kiss again?"
The comment brought a more genuine smile from Harry as Sam spluttered into her mug and glared at her friend. She settled into her seat as the doorbell signalled Clare's exit and an awkward silence descended.
"Come on then, an infection? We may have to wait to take the photos."
"Huh? Photos?"
Sam's question brought Harry out of an introspective funk and he pulled his shirt over his head in answer. The dragon swirled around his torso faster and faster before it stopped out of sight, a silent snarl showing from under his armpit.
I would suggest not mentioning that you are hearing voices. Do you think that would go well for you?
"It's really active, more than you said it would be after two weeks, and-"
Harry paused and looked down at his hands, they were shaking slightly. Sam's hand covered his and squeezed his fingers.
"What's going on, Harry, I'm getting concerned that this is about more than a tattoo? We can't remove it but there are other options. The nuclear option is Saint Mungo's or Madam Pomfrey."
Harry sat up straight and shook his head slightly, at Sam's wince he loosened his grip on her fingers a touch and shook his head more emphatically.
"Sorry, It's not that bad, not really. I'm just confused and maybe a little scared."
Don't tell her.
Harry sniffed in contempt and jutted his chin out stubbornly. He licked his lips and sat back lost in thought, he pulled his hands from her and tugged his T-shirt back over his head.
"Can tattoos do other things other than just move?"
"Erm, well, I suppose. People tend to adopt characteristics of the tattoo they chose depending on the method used or the creature they are based on. For example, your dragon is fierce and aggressive. As you might know, magic can work in mysterious ways and some people take on more overt traits. Kind of like animagi, you're complimentary with a dragon as you're such a good flyer. I have become more of a night owl since I got my badger, they're nocturnal hunters. it's not that significant but enough that my housemates have noticed."
Harry smiled slightly and scratched his neck, the dragon's head moved to his throat and watched Sam. Harry let out a deep sigh and met Sam's curious gaze.
"Something else is going on."
Don't tell her.
"I've always had instincts, almost like a voice talking to me and guiding me. Especially when things got dangerous, but..."
Harry swallowed then cleared his throat.
"It's gotten worse since I got 'Puff'."
"Worse how?"
Sam tucked her feet up onto the chair and hugged her knees, a thumbnail found its way between her teeth.
"Not worse, maybe louder."
Sam's eyes narrowed and a pregnant silence descended for a few seconds.
"It's talking to you?"
"Er, it's not as bad as it sounds."
"It sounds pretty bad. Didn't you ever hear that you shouldn't trust something if you can't see where it keeps its brain?"
"Yeah I heard, Mr Weasley has mentioned it a time or two."
"So… What's 'Puff' been saying?"
I'm not a fan of Puff.
Harry snorted.
"He doesn't like 'Puff.' What would you like to be called?"
"You're asking it?"
Harry smiled sheepishly at her raised eyebrow.
"When in Rome, erm."
"When in Rome, talk to your tattoo?"
If you insist on naming me, I prefer Smaug. That dragon had a backbone. It was badass, also I am male.
"Huh, me too. He prefers Smaug."
"He? 'Hobbit'?"
"Yeah, I read it a few summers ago. We both thought Smaug was a badass dragon."
"Huh, a well-read imaginary dragon, I think I'm still going to go with 'Puff'."
The snarling head appeared on Harry's left shoulder again and gave her the stink eye and Sam smirked.
"So, Harry. As far as the tattoo, the magic and the ink I used, there is nothing dangerous at all now that the risk of infection has passed. As for, erm, the personality. Apart from your concerns, has it done anything to endanger you or tried to change you?"
Told you. I have always looked out for your best interest. Your best interests are my best interests. Especially if you die.
"You mean apart from demanding another dragon and not the grim? Not really. He doesn't give up, keeps making my hands itch like crazy."
"Would you rather get Dumbledore involved?"
"Oh God, no, please no. I've had him and Pomfrey poke and prod me enough. I'll be okay. Do we have time for another tattoo?"
"Of course, I reserved the whole day for you. If 'Smaug' will assume his position I'll take my picture and you can flick through the catalogue again."
Sam flicked her wand and as a black object zoomed in from the front room a familiar book floated from the bookshelf in the studio.
"Shirt off again, then."
As Harry pulled his T-shirt over his head Sam flicked switches and pushed a button on her camera, she twirled her finger in the international hand sign for turn around and Harry swivelled in his seat.
"Stop. No, back slightly, that's the best angle and the light is pretty good too. Hold still, please."
The camera's clicking was the only sound for a time before she looked up at him and nodded thoughtfully and flicked her wand towards the kettle.
"That will come out well, another cuppa?"
Harry nodded as his head popped through the neck of his T-shirt.
"Yeah, okay, did you decide on the other ink?"
"Yeah, a neutralised cobra venom blend from India."
Harry had lifted his mug to his lips but paused to ask.
"Venom?"
"Hello! Basilisk!"
Harry smirked as he flicked through the catalogue and paused on a swirling red fire dragon. It was much more artistic than the horntail and a random thought worked its way into his mind.
'It really does help to talk.'
I can feel you calming, was it because you have voiced your worries or that you are close to this female again?
Harry moved his face closer to the catalogue so that Sam couldn't see his burning face and felt a burble of humour that wasn't his own.
"It doesn't mean I can't die from something else. I'm liking this red one."
Sam lent forward on her elbows to peer down at the indicated page.
"I thought you were going for the grim? Oh I like that one! It will really compliment the Horntail."
"I was actually thinking about the grim on my ribs."
Sam pulled a face and shook her head, her ponytail swung at the motion.
"It'll be too much. Too much happening. Oh, you've put your shirt back on."
She smirked at him, which caused Harry to roll his eyes, but pulled the article back over his head.
"Only if you take yours off too."
"I would, but I don't want to spend half an hour waiting for you to stop blushing."
"I would not!"
Sam raised an eyebrow and Harry blushed again. She moved around the table, perched on the edge and waved her wand in Harry's general direction. She took his right hand and ran her wand up and down several times then intoned her spell.
"Pingus temporarius."
The swirling fire monster faded into being and took on a crimson hue, a few sweeps of her wand then she gestured towards a mirror on the wall. Harry got up to observe himself in the magical item and suffered through several wolf whistles with another roll of his eyes and a put upon posture as he watched Sam peer over his shoulder.
"You're right, my dear, he is a red hot bad boy."
Sam snorted at the mirror's comment and narrowed her eyes at his reflection. A few more tweaks followed before she nodded with satisfaction.
"Alright, alright, alright. I'll make the tea and you go assume the position."
Sam waved a hand towards the studio as she flicked her wand at the abandoned mugs on the table, they floated towards her as she absently flicked her wand again. The catalogue flipped closed and returned itself back to the bookshelf.
"You can tell me all about your love life."
"I don't have a love life." Harry replied.
"I bet you'll surprise yourself."
"Well there is this one girl. She's much older than me but- ow! A bloody stinging hex!?"
"How old?"
_Break_
Harry's satisfied feeling lasted until he was sat with his friends around the Gryffindor table. Specifically it faded as he registered the demanding questions from Hermione and Ron. Neville, Dean and Seamus watched with amusement as he was scolded for completely different reasons.
"You left the castle again?! That's really irresponsible, Harry!"
"I had to cover for you with McGonagall, the headboy, and Snape."
Harry paused and regarded his friend as he scratched his cheek.
"Snape?"
"Peeves swears up and down that it wasn't him. Been singing about filthy students ever since."
Ron prodded at a lumpy brown liquid with a serving spoon and sniffed.
"It's stew, Ron."
"I know It's stew, Hermione, I'm just remembering that fish thing from when the French were here. I don't want it."
He went on to load his plate and continued to stuff his face for a full minute while his friends all watched and waited for him to remember his train of thought, Harry ran out of patience.
"Ron? Peeves?"
"Huh? Peeves? Oh right. Snape is on the warpath again for whoever oopsie-daised him. I reckon he's thinking there aren't many students who are brave enough to do that. Maybe a list of one?"
Harry tried to hide a smirk behind his goblet but Hermione caught it.
"Harry Potter! You didn't!?"
Harry's smirk blossomed into a grin.
"Dunno what you're talking about 'Mione. I wasn't even in that corridor."
Hermione gaped at him and Dean leant forward.
"So where were you?"
"Dunno yet. Haven't thought about it. I really thought Peeves would have gleefully accepted the credit."
Neville, Dean, Seamus and Ron sniggered in unison. Their laughter turned more raucous at the look on Hermione's stunned face. Harry joined in then winced as she prodded his arm.
"Ow, Hermione. What was that for?"
"What did you do?"
"I took an opportunity, that's all. A little ventriloquism."
Harry replied as he kept his hand protectively over his shoulder.
"Have you hurt yourself?"
"My arm is sore, that's all, stop poking it and it'll be fine."
Hermione raised an eyebrow and gently pressed her finger into the fabric of his T-shirt above his hand. Their friends stared, clearly not comprehending but too distracted to eat. Ron didn't have the same problem, food called to him.
Harry flinched.
"What did you do?"
Are you sure you want to tell them? Here? Will the red haired one be able to control his reaction?
Harry glanced up at the peanut gallery, at their gawping faces. At Ron who was temporarily oblivious, then up to Hermione who looked concerned. He cleared his throat.
"Ron?"
Ron brought his gaze up. Harry cleared his throat again.
"I wanted to cover up my scars."
Silence descended as several confused looks were exchanged.
"Covered up?"
"Scars?"
Hermione's question was more pertinent than Neville's, but no less relevant.
"I got a tattoo. Two actually."
Harry's whisper was low enough to cause the furthest away, Neville, to lean forward. Harry watched conflicting emotions race across Hermione's face, she opened her mouth, closed it again and as Harry saw resolution settle in her brown gaze he spoke.
"Not here. After dinner I'll show you. In the Room."
Harry met the gaze of each of his friends and received a nod from each of them. Ron had a mulish look in his eye but nodded as he masticated. With a sigh he turned back to his plate, he had lost his appetite.
I don't think it would be wise to tell them about me.
'No, probably not.'
_Break_
Harry trudged up staircases and along corridors with the air of a condemned man. Ron had spent several quiet minutes not meeting anyone's gaze, finished his plate, stood and left abruptly.
Hermione continued her previous conversation with Dean on his dad's flower stall at the Chelsea Flower Show. Harry was just interested enough to finish his meal instead of following Ron.
Neville matched Harry's slow pace and regarded his friend for a time.
"Magical tattoo?"
Harry nodded, it was sinking in that he shouldn't have done all this on his own. His reasoning was still sound; Hermione would have argued against it, long and loud. Ron would have insisted on going and getting one too but Harry really hadn't wanted to share the experience. It had been personal, plus the kiss. He smirked.
"Yeah, in the village. She's really good. I can recommend the experience. Are you thinking about getting one, Nev?"
"Gods no, Gran would skin me alive. Which ink did you have?"
"Squid ink and cobra venom."
Harry said it as matter of factly as he could and the expected response came from Dean.
"Venom? Snake venom?"
"Neutralised naturally."
"Naturally."
Dean spoke slowly, clearly not appreciating Harry's humour.
"I had a magical scar from a magical creature, the usual squid ink she uses wouldn't have worked. It took a while for her to find the right one."
"The basilisk?"
Hermione's voice had lost its frustrated edge, and her worry shone through as she turned to regard him. She had stomped up two flights of stairs, fists clenched and frizzy hair whipping from side to side until Neville had asked his question.
"Yeah, I didn't know either. It's really involved, Sam has had to invent at least one spell. I'll tell you when we catch up with Ron."
"You may as well answer her questions now, mate, Ron probably won't let any of us get a word in."
Dean told him as he brushed biscuit crumbs from the front of his robes. Neville nodded in agreement and Harry pulled a face and rolled his eyes, Seamus laughed and slung a careless arm across Harry's shoulders.
"Aye, he's going to be as twitchy as a leprechaun on a toadstool. You know by now that giving him too long to think is never a good thing."
Harry grunted in pain and shrugged Seamus away, he caressed one forearm then the other.
"No, I've made enough mistakes and leaving Ron out of the explanation will only make things worse."
The final two flights and walk down the seventh floor corridor was made in silence besides Neville puffing up the last flight of stairs. The door was already formed and propped open with a chair leg when Harry reached it, the room inside was dark inside.
"Ron?"
"Why is the eejit sitting in the dark?"
The group chuckled at Seamus as Harry pushed the door open to find Ron sat on one of several leather couches, he looked mesmerised with his gaze fixed on a sputtering candle. The only light in the room.
"Piss off you irish gnome. I had a headache by the time I got here."
"Can we have more light, Ron? Episkey."
Hermione gently asked as she sat by her redheaded friend and she tapped him on the head with her wand. The subdued lighting rose slowly without a word and they all sat. The furniture was arranged in a square so they could see with little trouble.
All attention turned to Harry and he sighed.
"I suppose I owe you an apology, guys, but let me say something first."
Harry held up his hands to forestall any comment as he took a few seconds to compose himself.
"I found this new shop during our first Hogsmeade weekend. Drawn to it really. I've been feeling more and more self-conscious about my scars. I needed to do something, no it was more than that, this was an answer to a question I didn't know to ask."
Hermione opened her mouth but glanced at Ron as he leant forward a thoughtful look on his face.
"Why didn't you say anything? I've not noticed-"
"You always wear long sleeves."
Neville interrupted him with a sad smile, he would have continued but Dean beat him to it.
"We're in the Scottish highlands, Nev. Everyone wears long sleeves."
Harry continued before he could be interrupted again.
"Sam was a Hufflepuff, a seventh year during our second, she opened, I think it was a year ago."
"Aren't you too young for something like this?"
Hermione blurted out. The boys laughed and Harry smiled at her fondly.
"I was wondering when you asked that one. Dumbledore has been really weird, I was kicked off the team and there was nothing I could do about it. This was one thing I could control, I'm sorry but I couldn't take the risk of him or McG finding out and stopping me."
Ron took Hermione's hand which caused her to look at him and give him a chance to ask the next question. It had been an unconscious move, he seemed to not have noticed that he'd done it.
"That explains why you didn't tell 'Mione but why didn't you tell me or Nev or those two?"
Harry smothered a smirk at Hermione's intense stare at the side of Ron's head and nodded.
"I've found that it's a really personal thing and something that I wanted to do on my own."
"This Sam, is she pretty?"
The sudden laughter at Seamus' question intensified with Harry's crimson blush as he broke into a coughing fit.
"Let's see them then."
Dean decided that he had had enough of the tell portion of show and tell and was fiddling with his habitual sketch pad and pencil tin which had magically appeared in his lap. Harry met the eye of each of his friends and nodded.
"Do me a favour, don't tell anyone else. Especially not Parvati or Lavender."
"The whole school would know by lunch."
Seamus agreed as Harry rose and shrugged out of his jacket. The T-shirt followed and Hermione gasped. The coils undulated and writhed. The heads snarled and the wings on his shoulder blades flapped and twisted.
'Show off.'
You never appreciate good drama. I still think you should have shaken the Blonde Snake's hand, you would never be bored.
'I'm not bored now, just worried.'
No fear.
"They- they're so life-like. She's really good."
Harry watched the reaction of Dean and Seamus, Dean seemed to appreciate the skill and Seamus nodded in approval. Neville was more reserved but gave him a slight smile.
"They do cover up the scars, Harry."
Harry turned around and let his gaze linger on Hermione for a second before turning to see Ron's reaction.
"Bloody hell. My mum would kill me. Not even Bill was brave enough to go that big."
"I'd be happy for her to scold me."
Harry smiled at his friend then looked back at Hermione again.
"So fierce, aggressive. They suit you. I really thought you'd have gone with a Grimm though."
"I almost did but something spoke to me and I went with these two."
The dragons settled to their usual positions and Harry put his T-shirt back on.
"So, gobstones anyone?"
"We're not twelve anymore, Harry."
Neville laughed as they all rose.
"Tell that to Oliver and Alicia. They were still obsessed in their seventh year."
_Break_
Harry Potter, sometimes styled as The-Boy-Who-Lived, Gryffindor Quidditch Seeker and Triwizard Champion, was not known as an academic, but word had spread about the amount of time he spent in the library. Madam Pince had been heard complaining that her routine had been disrupted by the boy waiting for her to open up and how odd he was acting.
"Mr Potter," Professor McGonagall called.
Harry slowed and twisted to look at her over his shoulder. He looked longingly at the library doors before he licked his teeth in frustration and turned again with a too bright smile.
"Hi, Professor," Harry said, "how are you?"
Professor McGonagall raised an imperious eyebrow and stood a little taller.
"I am fine, Mr Potter, but then my well-being is not the topic of conversation in the staff common room. Would you care to answer an old educator's questions and assuage her concerns?"
Harry felt a twinge of warning somewhere inside and a surge of emotion, amusement?
"You're not old, Professor, barely middle-aged! I heard Professor Dumbledore say that you were a whippersnapper," Harry smiled winningly, his eyes drifted towards the doors in his periphery.
Professor McGonagall snorted and blushed slightly and cleared her throat. Harry's own throat closed up in horror, he had never been that cheeky in his life, Uncle Vernon would have tanned his hide at the mere thought of back chat.
"No matter what Professor Snape says, I rarely see your father despite your looks. You will always be your mother's son to me, but that was pure James. A little clumsy but definitely your father speaking through you. To Professor Dumbledore, everyone is a young whippersnapper, except for maybe some of the ghosts." Her stern countenance softened slightly by a half-smile. "I still have questions though. May we?"
She indicated a classroom door a few metres down from where they stood. Harry nodded reluctantly and followed her inside and took a seat on the desk chair nearest the teachers desk.
"Your behaviour has been noticed; your changed behaviour has been noticed. Your recent grades have improved and your assignments have more relevant content in them."
"Is that a bad thing, Professor?" Harry asked.
"Definitely not, but rapid improvements are just as big indicators as deteriorating marks are. You have gone from a solid A-E student to a potential O+ student in just a few weeks. It's not common at all, usually the improvement is drawn out over months to a year and maintained. I am required to ask why the change now and is this here to stay, because unless you're as driven and able as Miss Granger or several of the Ravenclaws then this is not sustainable."
"I've found myself with more time on my hands, thanks to Umbridge and with Voldemort, well, after me, I want to be more prepared. The assignments just sort of happened. Is it sustainable?" Harry puffed out his cheeks and shrugged. "I'm not sure but I'm actually enjoying the work, so maybe?"
Harry picked at a hole in the varnished tabletop before him and avoided her gaze. She had seen through innocent words too many times before to trust that he would not be found out this time.
"I can understand that and was expecting your reasoning. I do hope you can maintain it, there is no limit to what you could achieve if you could harness your potential. I would also like you to know that I am here if you need anything or have any problems. I realise that I have not been the most consistent Head of House and for that I apologise. Even at my age there are still things to learn and improve on."
"I will, Professor, I will be using the Room of Requirement to practise spellwork too. Professor Dumbledore promised that he would train me, but I can't wait."
"Hmmm," Professor McGonagall paused. "I will speak to the Headmaster on this, the formal education that you are receiving and your personal research does not compare to the accumulated knowledge that he could impart. I will officially allow experimentation and spellwork provided that you agree to an assessment with myself or Professor Flitwick once a week to ensure you are being responsible."
"Yes, Professor, that is no problem. The room does give me some structure too."
"Is there anything else you wish to discuss?" Professor McGonagall asked as she rose.
"Any word from the Ministry?" Harry asked.
"Not yet, but the Ministry is never known for fast and expedient work. It will take time, unfortunately, Mr Potter."
"Yeah, thanks, Professor. Can I go?"
"Of course, remember your curfew." She offered him a slight smile and a nod.
The speed Harry left the classroom was just shy of rude and he fairly ran down the corridors. Before he registered his speed he was outside the big library doors slightly winded and he observed several looks from a trio of third-year Hufflepuff's that he couldn't decipher.
As was his recent habit he haunted the dim and dusty shelves for maybe an hour, skim reading tomes by wand light, and note-taking on a hovering parchment with a quick-quotes quill. The restricted section was his next stop and he was gravitating in that direction when he sensed a presence nearby.
He slid the book back in its place on the dusty shelf then ducked to peer between shelves and see into the next aisle when a tapping sound and a whipping of fabric returned his attention to in front of him.
He registered a flash of blonde hair before he was body checked into the bookshelf behind him which caused it to rock dangerously. He reflexively clamped onto the shelf above his head with one hand while the other slid around a slim waist.
He could feel hands slide up his chest as the most passionate kiss of his short life happened to him. Then the kiss and the body was gone and he slid to the ground, legs limp and breathing ragged.
"Finish it."
A voice floated back towards him, breathy and stilted in the musty air. He huffed a breath.
"What? Bloody hell."
Harry spent a few seconds trying to catch his breath and wondered just who that had been.
You know who that was.
"Fine, I can guess, can you tell me why?"
Harry rolled to his feet then stooped for his quill and parchment which fell when he lost concentration.
No
"Do you know?"
The response was a long time coming and Harry reached the restricted section first, and had almost forgotten his question as he paced the regiment of book shelves, each one towering into the gloom overhead. Many of the titles were unintelligible to him, either a foreign language or obscured by darker magic than probably should be allowed in a school of terminally curious children and young adults.
I don't know.
Harry stopped in his tracks and kicked up a gout of feather light dust, he coughed out a question.
"You don't know? You don't know what you know or you can't tell me?"
Yes.
Harry growled.
"I'm feeling like chopping my arm off."
Which one? I honestly don't know if I know or not, there is a hole in my knowledge.
Harry harrumphed and continued to meander. Time passed, maybe another hour sifting through knowledge that might not have been viewed by a human for a hundred years, the dust lay so thick over everything.
The tenth book he touched sent a spark of electricity up his arm and straight to his brain. He pulled the massive book down and carried it to the nearest study table, also covered in dust.
With a quick scourgify so he could sit in relative comfort he cracked the book open and began to read. This was a book of rituals, and not pleasant ones. He saw one that looked like human sacrifice and with a gasp of horror he slammed the book closed.
"Nope, that's a bad idea."
He placed his hands either side of the book to help him stand, his legs felt like jelly and weren't working properly. They eventually complied and as he rose he tried to straighten but couldn't and realised that his hands were stuck to the table.
Panic coursed through his mind as he wrenched his shoulder back. He tried to power through his legs but to no avail, the only result was sore legs and the feeling like he was going to rip the skin from his palms.
This was when events began to overtake Harry. He found himself bent over the table, legs straight, arm straight starting right down at the book as the front cover creaked open. The pages riffle on their own accord until a full two thirds of the manuscript had flopped over, his hair wafted in the constant breeze generated by the cursed book.
He involuntarily took in the two intertwined dragons depicted on one page, the dense text, hand written on the other. Harry tried to move his hands again, but he was unable. He couldn't even turn his head or swivel his eyes away. The ritual seared into his brain with the brightness of a thousand suns, or possibly dragonfire.
His understanding grew as the light began to pulse, he could vaguely hear his own cries but they seemed distant or under water. He could see a vast sky in his mindseye, a truly stupendous wingspan silhouetted against the sunset. The words flashed across the image and he knew he would never forget any of it and rapture overroad any fear or hesitation.
Acceptance, thank you, Harry.
The bonds which held him released as one and he slumped bonelessly into the chair, a fatigue greater than he had ever felt swept over him, and he drifted off for a minute, or was it an hour?
Realisation dawned as he pulled his jacket off, the dragons thrashed and undulated before the black one swept down his arm to gather on his palm. Harry raised his hand so it was at eye level and swallowed through a suddenly dry throat.
I am a manifestation of Ryuu the Ancient, and you have the immortal soul of a ritual will liberate our soul from the aether. We will become one. You have a destiny and this path is key to meeting it.
"Do I have a choice?"
Maybe a terrible one, you can freely choose not to perform the ritual but you and your mate will be forever unfulfilled and alone. There are dark forces that have designs on both of you.
"Will I stop being me?"
Harry asked, a tremor in his voice.
No, you will change some but everyone changes throughout their life, the decisions will be yours, just viewed through a more reptilian lens. The dragon soul has no consciousness as you understand it. It cares little for mortal events, only that it may be free from the long dark of eternity for a short time.
"What do I do?"
The choice is yours, but know that your destiny is clouded. This may very well be the power he knows not. Although I do believe that the prophecy is incomplete or misinterpreted. There is too much not known. Keep this thought uppermost in your deliberations. Whatever is to come, and you know there is something coming, do you wish to remain a wizard with a wizard's strengths and weaknesses or do you wish to have the power of a dragon on your side no matter what you decide or course you set.
Harry watched the motes of dust filter through the meagre light, he let out a tiny puff of breath and watched the motes dance and spiral. Just like air vortices following a gout of dragonsfire. He was intimately familiar with that.
"If nothing else, I need an edge against Tom."
Harry heaved a sigh and glanced down at his watch. It was a quarter to four.
"Tell me, does a dragon need sleep?"
Unfortunately they are like cats. Sleep all the time.
"Bugger."
_Break_
It had taken Harry until the following weekend to get everything lined up. He'd been spending as much time with his friends as he could, to reassure himself that he was still the same Harry Potter as much as to allay any suspicions his friends might have.
Hermione was watching him like a hawk ever since his 'all nighter' in the library where he was caught by Filch on the main staircase. If he hadn't been dead on his feet he would have used the god given sense of a mouse and used all the secret passages that he knew and Filch didn't.
'Bugger. I'm sure that man never sleeps.'
So here he was on Friday night in a random dungeon on the far side of the castle to the Slytherin common room. Harry had managed the finally balanced act of playing up not feeling well all day but not quite bad enough to convince Hermione to steer him towards the tender claws of Madam Pomfrey. Now there was a woman with a dragon's soul if he ever saw one.
He had gone to bed when Neville did, sealed his bed curtains as was his habit then when Neville was in the bathroom shouted, "Night," and flew a school broom out of the window.
He alighted on the nearest balcony banished the broom towards the Quidditch pitch and pulled his invisibility cloak over his head.
The rest was child play, he slipped between groups of students, down the staircase to the dungeon and away into the gloom.
He stood in his chosen room and turned a slow circle. Every nook and crevice has been washed, rinsed, then scourgified.
The ritual called for accuracy and care while drawing, the warnings and admonishments took a good fifth of the page. As well as descriptions of the foolish who thought modifications were wise or acceptable.
Harry shuddered. All this was etched into his brain. In graphic detail.
On the plus side he wouldn't have to do a poor attempt at a dragon tattoo which was a fundamental requirement of the ritual. A necessity if you will. Harry slowly walked the diagram and eye-balled each chalk line, angle, and magical channel as well as searched for any imperfection in the stone.
He nodded and started to strip.
Harry placed his trainers and neatly folded clothes in a convenient alcove which looked like a window ledge that had been bricked up. His wand went on top of the pile and Harry stepped back to review his mental list. Remove all clothing, check. Be completely clean, check, he had scrubbed himself raw. Ritual circle, check. Deep seated fear? Double check.
The ritual circle had been the most challenging part of the preparation. He had had to draw a perfect circle on a perfectly flat granite surface with five concentric circles one inside the other. Not too hard he had initially thought but even finding a smooth flat surface had been impossible. He had resorted to researching mining and stone cutting charms, and transfigured thin flat stone plates which he melted together with a type of welding charm. That had been surprisingly effective.
Harry smirked as a memory surfaced. The odd searching look Hermione had given him when she had caught him pouring over a tome on gem cutting and dressing had amused him after he had gotten over his shock at her sudden appearance. She had insisted that she'd been sitting there for a good ten minutes before she had gotten annoyed at him and batted the back of her hand across his shoulder. He had jumped a foot into the air and his yell had made every student and teacher in the study area jump too.
Harry sat his naked form into the centre of the ritual circle, adjusted himself slightly and finally spoke the activation phrase which was fifty words long and had to be pitched just right. The final two words had gained special meaning for him in the nine days he had been contemplating them.
"Indomitus Draconis!"
The phrase meant freedom, free from being under Dumbledore's thumb, free from fear of Voldemort and his limitless power and cruelty, free from his own fear and self doubt.
Harry hoped.
A white light flashed and he knew no more.
T.B.C