Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3838075.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Draco_Malfoy/Harry_Potter/Blaise_Zabini, Harry_Potter/Original_Male
      Character(s)
  Character:
      Draco_Malfoy, Harry_Potter, Blaise_Zabini, Original_Male_Character(s),
      Original_Female_Character(s), Albus_Dumbledore, Hermione_Granger, Ron
      Weasley, Severus_Snape, Lucius_Malfoy, Narcissa_Black_Malfoy, Mrs_Zabini,
      Ginny_Weasley, Molly_Weasley, Remus_Lupin, Arthur_Weasley, Hogwarts
      Students, Voldemort, Death_Eater(s), Kreacher_(Harry_Potter), Order_of
      the_Phoenix
  Additional Tags:
      Slash, Minor_Violence, Romance, Slow_Build, Explicit_Sexual_Content,
      Dubious_Consent, Creature_Inheritance, Politics, Alternate_Universe_-
      Canon_Divergence, Mpreg, Pureblood_Culture, Male_Lactation, Dragons,
      Creature_Fic, Mild_Hurt/Comfort, Dom/sub, Domestic_Fluff, Eventual_Happy
      Ending, Underage_Sex, Age_Difference, Self-Acceptance, Angst, Developing
      Relationship
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-04-28 Updated: 2017-08-29 Chapters: 2/? Words: 10019
****** Where the Dragons Roamed ******
by Surgical
Summary
     Coming into a sudden creature inheritance was not how Harry Potter
     wanted to begin the summer before his Sixth Year. Between juggling
     his new attributes, attempting to make amends with his wayward
     friends, and preparing for the inevitable confrontation with
     Voldemort suddenly finding himself with mates and expected to have
     children is the least of his worries.
Notes
     I will say this once, for reference and so it is not asked again, no
     I did not plagiarize Rise of the Drackens by StarlightMassacre, and
     it is not my intention to do so. Yes, this story was inspired by it,
     and yes I received permission from both StarlightMassacre and
     Beautiful Kaos before writing this story. These stories will share
     similar aspects, but WTDR and RotD will not continue on the same
     spectrum.
  This work was inspired by
      The_Rise_of_the_Drackens by StarLight_Massacre
***** Change Has Come *****
WHERE THE DRAGONS ROAMED
 
Harry Potter characters, organizations, locations, and spells are created and
owned by J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and various publishers including but not
limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books. This is a
work of Fanfiction intended only for entertainment. No profit is being made and
no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: Coming into a sudden creature inheritance was not how Harry Potter
wanted to begin the summer before his Sixth Year. Between juggling his new
attributes, attempting to make amends with his wayward friends, and preparing
for the inevitable confrontation with Voldemort suddenly finding himself with
mates and expected to have children is the least of his worries.
 
===============================================================================
                                        
                                      1.
                                CHANGE HAS COME
                                        
                                        
When Harry Potter awoke the morning after a night of unrest it was to an
atrocious churn of pain in his stomach and chest, and a sense of something
being greatly amiss. As the first light of morning peeked over the horizon and
the Dursley family of number four, Privet Drive awoke and readied themselves
for a day of leisure activity, Harry pulled himself upright with some
difficulty. His bones ached and muscles protested with every miniscule twitch.
His skin itched with a burning fever that made him groan. Hoping he was not
coming down with a cold – which would inevitably bring further distaste to his
already horrid summer break – Harry combed his fingers through his hair.
Immediately he took notice of the strangeness to it. The texture was thicker,
softer – almost like feathers. Deep waves cascaded between his fingers and
further inspection showed that his hair had increased overnight. It spilled
over the edges of his narrow bed, inches away from brushing along the faded,
wooden floor. Harry was rather perplexed, of course, but not as surprised as he
would have assumed. It wasn’t exactly strange for his hair to grow – after all,
years of facing Aunt Petunia and her kitchen scissors in his youth left him
disinterested in new hair growth. For some time, Harry remained upright and
lounged in his bed, giving the occasional yawn and rubbing the sleep from his
eyes. After some time, he reaches for his glasses on the nightstand and upon
putting them on finds his vision to be blurred and distorted. Pulling them off
in confusion, Harry frowned, both astounded and uncertain of how to grasp the
realization that his vision was perfect. From the microscopic specks of dust
suspended in the air, and the invisible brush strokes on the wall – why he even
saw that there were varying shades of white - he saw it all.
Folding his glasses and returning them to the nightstand, Harry stared out the
open window with wonder. Vaguely, he recalls opening it up sometime before
midnight to tempt a cool breeze into the heated bedroom. He doesn’t remember
sleeping well seeing as he spent a large duration of the night crippled by a
vicious pain in his stomach and abdomen. The pain had kept him awake for the
most part of the night shivering, gasping and moaning till he had succumbed to
unconsciousness. Stretching the stiffness from his blistering arms and legs,
Harry tucked all thoughts of the strange occurrence last night in the farthest
corner of his mind and climbed from the bed.
After the initial sway of nausea that left him swaying on his weak feet, Harry
left his bedroom for the bathroom. Downstairs he could hear the hum of the
kitchen telly and the incoherent conversation between his Aunt and Uncle as the
smell of bacon and eggs tickled his senses. Closing the door behind him, Harry
extracted his worn towel from the bottom of the towel rack, not once glancing
at the soft cotton towels that his Aunt warned him against touching. As he
turned to undress, facing the sink, his ministrations were deterred by the
sight of his reflection.
To say Harry was shocked would be a gross understatement. The mirror reflected
an image with such startling clarity that he was taken aback, but the person
whom he saw peering back at him left him more surprised than anything. The boy
in the mirror was a thing of beauty. Hair of the blackest ink fell in soft
waves around a small, delicately carved face. Hair – that Harry realized –
spilled to his knees. The boys’ cheekbones were high and sharp, branding him a
member of an old patrician and his lips were full, red and shaped like bows.
Thick, heavy lashes fanned against the ivory cheeks, accenting the varying
shades of green in his irises. The small nose wrinkles and his lips tremble as
frail hands come ghost over each feature of his face.
Enraptured, Harry could do not else but watch as the slim ditches grace over
the cheekbones, chin, lips and slender neck. He notices the smoothness to the
skin and the lack of scars or blemishes he had grown used to seeing on his
body. Lowering his hands, Harry takes a breath and exhales, his mind working to
find a logical reason to this extreme change as he undressed. Removing the
second-hand rags that hung off his frame, Harry examines the rest of his body.
He had always been too thin and physically shorter than other boys his age due
to the years of maltreatment and starvation at the hands of his relatives. Five
years at Hogwarts had given him some definition of muscle and fat, leaving him
lithe. Now, however, it was as if all those years of Quidditch practice had
never occurred to begin with. His body was petite, stomach toned and waist
pinched under his ribcage. His hips had rounded and gained width, and his
bottom was plump. His legs were long and lean, skin untouched by the scars that
had once marred his childhood and youth. Even his chest had lost its
definition. It was not the hard pecs of a young man, but rather it was softer
and slightly rounder – just enough that Harry could pinch it into a mound of
fat.
Wincing at the pinprick of soreness it warranted, Harry flushed with
embarrassment when he realized what he was doing. Pacing the length of the
bathroom, Harry desperately tried to figure out what exactly could have gone
wrong in the span of twenty-four hours to turn him into this. He hadn't done
any form of magic or eaten anything strange.
It took all effort in his being to not break into a fit of hysteria – even if
the only thing he wanted to do currently was to shriek and break into said
hysteria. “I’m going mad,” he announced, opening his eyes to peer into the
mirror, squinting in hopes that his features would magically rearrange
themselves to look like his own once again. No such luck. Rolling out the
tightness from his shoulders, Harry released a sigh and as he turned to shower
paused as something glittered in the mirror. His lips pursued into a taut line,
eyes tracking over the mirror to catch the glimmering of gold again. When he
saw nothing, Harry turned to enter the tub when that same glint of light caught
his eyes. This time, however, he saw where it came from. From where it poured
in from the window, sunlight danced against his naked flesh, sending shards of
whites, golds, ivory, and pale lilac into the air. Bringing his arm to eye-
level, Harry bit back a shrill cry at the sight that greeted him. There, so
small and blended so perfectly into his flesh were scales. They covered the
expanse of his arms and hands, bringing a sheen of color to the manicured
fingernails. Further, and frantic, scrutiny of his body showed these same
scales covered the length of his legs, back (he had to crane his neck to see),
sides and hollow dip of his collarbone and abdomen.
Okay than, Harry thought far more calmly than he actually felt. Okay so you
look a tad different – nothing strange with that. You’re a growing boy and all
that…He pushes his hair away, the tips of his fingers brushing over his
chest.He tried to console himself with these thoughts as he finally began to
shower, ignoring Aunt Petunia’s irate demands that he get out the bathroom that
instant.  This doesn’t make you a different person. You’re still Harry Potter
on the inside.
Giving a shaky, weak chuckle, Harry lingers a few minutes longer under the cold
stream before cutting it off. He was still himself, he thought, as he wrapped
his towel unconsciously around his waist. Maybe he looked a bit different but
he didn’t feel any different – he still felt like himself even before he had
gone to bed last night. Leaving the bathroom, Harry opened the door to find his
Aunt Petunia pacing the length of the threshold to the bathroom. When her eyes
landed on him, all rehearsed words left her mouth in favor of one:
“Lily,” she gasped, and there was such pain in her eyes that Harry edged
backward in surprise. Despondency hung in Aunt Petunia’s eyes as she tried to
find her bearing, to bring focus back to reality but she could not. In front of
her was not the nephew she had taken in when her sister was murdered. It was
not the little boy she belittled and scorned, the boy that she hated
passionately for something he didn’t do and didn’t know, and despised for being
the reason for her sister’s death. But there her sister was right now – her
little sister, Lily, so beautiful and lovely. It hurt her heart to look at him.
“Aunt Petunia?” Harry treaded carefully with his words, his eyes widening when
she gave him the most black-hearted glare he had ever seen come from her.
“Your uncle and I are going out to visit Marge,” Petunia informed him frigidly.
“Dudley will be here to watch you. I want you to clean this house and have
dinner on the table by the time Vernon and I return or you won’t be getting any
food for today.”
Harry sighed. “Yes, Aunt Petunia,” he said and swiftly walked past her. Her
reaction to his new appearance did nothing to douse the rumbling fear in
Harry’s stomach. Rather the opposite, really. She had called him his mother –
his mother of all people! Never before had he felt so emasculated and confused
in his entire life. Groaning to himself, Harry made a hasty retreat to his
bedroom. Locking the door behind him, Harry quickly dries his body a redresses
in a pair of jeans and baggy, white shirt. Drying his hair took a bit more
time, especially seeing as he had to brush the tangles out of it. As he stared
at his reflection in the wardrobe, Harry tried to figure out exactly what had
happened to him, why it had happened, and how he was possibly going to change
back – if he was going to be able to change back at all. He closed his eyes,
inhaled deeply, and opened them again with the hope that his features would
magically rearrange themselves to how they once looked. No such luck. Unable to
look at himself, Harry quickly dressed in a loose pair of trousers and gray
shirt and left his bone-bare bedroom behind him.
Downstairs Aunt Petunia was insisting upon Dudley calling her if he needed
anything or should anything go wrong. Uncle Vernon, the first to notice Harry
coming down, had glanced once at him and quickly did a retake with wide beady
eyes. “What in the rudy hell did you do to yourself boy?” He demanded,
spluttering with shock and rage at the sight of his nephew.
Dudley and Petunia eyed him as well. Dudley with far more interest for Harry’s
comfort, and Aunt Petunia with masked surprise. He shrugged, mumbling a quiet
“I dunno” and stood rooted at the foot of the steps as Uncle Vernon colorfully
threatened him to an inch of his life should he come back to a messy or damaged
house. “No funny business. Got it,” Harry clarified for the obtuse man.
When it came time for Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon to leave, Harry was already
cleaning up in the kitchen and devouring an apple. Dudley kept to himself as
Harry set to morning chores, acknowledging his presences only when he happen to
walk past. Outside the sun rested heavily in the air, sending spiteful rays of
sunlight throughout. As Harry worked to mow the lawn, prune the bushes, water
the flowerbeds, and paint the fence, his muscles were reduced to lead weights
that prickled with an uncomfortable pain. By the time the afternoon had sunk
into late evening and the air had begun to cool, Harry was working on the final
preparations for a pork roast when a knock sounded throughout the house.
Dudley, who had been lounging in the kitchen when he had started to make
dinner, grunted out a short, “Go get it,” without looking away from the telly.
Harry glared at his cousins turned back and consulted the kitchen clock. It was
far too early for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia to return from Marge’s. Drying
his hands as he left the kitchen, Harry was prepared for possibly his
relatives, or even the neighbors when he opened the door. The man who stood
there was neither. Now, Harry had seen many strange people in his life -
especially if he happened to be in the wizarding world. But this man was as
strange as they come. He was an elderly fellow with a shock of white hair that
flew in all directions, and leathery brown skin that clung gently to his bones.
His eyes were a faint gray that stood against his dark skin. He was dressed in
rich crimson robes with intricate designs of gold threading woven into them. He
stood a good head taller than Harry, but what Harry noticed was the scales
covering the expanse of his skin. The deep chestnuts and golds are shown
faintly in the light of the hallway, and Harry reflexively attempted to jerk
the door shut in shock.
“Oh no you don’t!” cried out the old man, snapping his hand forward and
stopping Harry was closing him out the house. “I came all the way here to talk
to you and I will not be leaving until I’ve had a cup of tea and a good rest.”
Harry gaped at him. “You cannot be bloody serious,” he said.
Grey eyes regarded him severely for a moment, the man opening the door further
and stepping inside. Harry, rooted to his spot, watched as the elderly man
closed the door and bolted it. He stiffened when the pale iris’s stared him
down once more, and the crook of his elbow was grabbed and he was marched into
the living room. For a wild moment Harry wondered if the man had entered the
Dursley’s home before when the man scoffed at the lack of animated photographs.
He sat Harry down without an ounce of gentleness, sat to his side and stared at
him for a good few minutes.
“Ugh,” Harry started uncertainly. “I’m sorry for earlier. I was rather rude to
close the door on you without warning. You just caught me by surprise.”
The man blinked. “My this is a first,” he said with a much lighter mood than
minutes before. “A Drakon submissive who apologizes willingly for their
mistakes.”
“Well I was in the wrong,” Harry began to say then stopped, his mind digesting
what was said and backtracking to question the man. “Drak what?”
“Drakon,” corrected the man. “Of the Dragon Kind. You will soon learn all about
your heritage and lineage – “
Harry held up a hand for silence. He wasn’t computing any of this. It was all
too strange, too weird for him to stomach properly without feeling like he was
going to be sick. Drakon. Of the Dragon Kind – is that what he is? Some sort of
creature hybrid that no longer counts for being human? He shudders, rubbing at
his bare arms in disgust. Too much, he thought, this is just too much.
“I know this may be overwhelming, especially for one so young and new to this,”
the man was saying soothingly, his hand on Harry’s knee. “You were not raised
to accept our ways and values – you and very many others who have been raised
away from the Privy Council are unaware of their lineage until they had reached
majority at sixteen.”
“There – there are others like me?” asked Harry shakily, fingers trembling in
his lap.
“Of course, dear, there are many others of our kind in this world. You are not
alone in this,” continued the man. “There are many submissive Drakons that come
into maturity and not know what they are until they arrive at their first
gathering.”
“Is that why you are here? To take me to this gathering thing?”
“Yes, I am,” confirmed the man. “My name is Annas – Elder Annas.”
Harry visibly took in a shaky breath, confliction and concern knitting his
brows together as he smiled tightly and extended a hand in greeting to the man.
“It is nice to meet you, Elder Annas. I’m Harry Potter.”
“I’m already aware of that,” said Elder Annas with a jovial laugh. “Why when
the other Elder’s and I learned a new submissive – a male of all things – has
been found, we were quick to pinpoint your location and identity. Imagine my
surprise when your name came up.”  He chuckled mirthfully. “Elder Silas was all
but ecstatic at the prospect of introducing you to prospective dominates.”
Annas paused his excited ramble when he noticed the distraught and horrified
expression Harry wore, quickly saying, “I’m sorry, dear. I’m overwhelming you
again with all my babbling. It’s just very rare for a male Drakon submissive to
be born. Even rarer for them to exude such a wide range of power during their
change. You gave us all quite a shock.”
“I’m sorry?”
Elder Annas waved away his unsure apology. “No need to be sorry, dear child.
You are a gift to our people. A true Bloodborne. Oh I nearly forgot to give
this to you.” Annas extracted a large, black leather bound tome from within
inner pockets, handing it over with a comforting smile to the shaken boy. “It
will provide you with all you will need to know for now and once we have
returned to the Gathering Hall you will be settled into Drakon life and we will
find you a suitable mate.”
Harry frowned down at the heavy text. “What if I don’t want to go with you? Or
– or accept any of this?” he questioned softly, stealing a glance to the man
beside him. “I can’t just drop my life to run off and become someone’s –
someone’s mate. I have school and friends – things that I need to take care
of.”
“It will not become easier for you, child, if you attempt to deny your
birthright. You only harm yourself and endanger your own life and the lives of
those around you by being without a mate,” Annas stated. “The longer a
submissive is without a mate, the more erratic they become till they either
destroy themselves or those around them.”
“I – I can’t,” hissed out Harry. “I can’t just accept this like its nothing.”
Elder Annas tilted his head in thought. “And I do not expect you to accept this
all without a fight,” he revealed gravely. “You are dealing with much already,
but we only seek to help you, child. Being a Drakon is not a life sentence. It
is a chance at happiness and true family.”
 
===============================================================================
                                        
                                        
DRAKON: BEAST
CLASSIFIED:  XXXVII
The Drakon breed was first discovered in Nepal during the late 1500s. During
this time period their race integrated with human and warlocks effortlessly,
their genetic coding allowing them to virtually change “skins.” When in its
true form a Drakon is similar to that of its kin, the Dragon, and thus
extremely dangerously and should be treated with caution at all times. Drakon
females, from what reports have shown, cannot change their physical forms as
quickly as their male counterparts. However, they are not without their own
defense mechanisms and should not be engaged in battle. Since 1821 the Drakon
race has depleted in great numbers, resulting in little to one hundred
remaining Drakons currently alive (1988). Drakons were officially classified by
the British Ministry of Magic as Dark Creatures (beast) in 1879 and have been
deemed a danger to society.
Drakon blood, organs, scales and chicks (children of Drakon females) have been
sold in market places –
 
The book was closed with an audible snap. For too long he cannot react, this
mind throbbing atrociously, and thoughts scattered every which way. Harry had
assumed he could handle anything; after all fifteen years of dealing with the
Dursley’s had taught him to neither be surprised nor whine about injustices.
Harry wasn’t stupid by any means, he knew this world wasn’t fair, just as he
knew life waited for no one. But he was confused. The conversation with Elder
Annas hadn’t made the least bit of sense, he had nearly burnt dinner in his
distraction and consequently gone to bed starving, and his life was changing
faster than he could grasp a hold onto it. Everything was just a mess and he
wanted nothing more to do with any of this.
Turning onto his stomach, Harry stretched out his limbs, grunting softly, and
tucked his hands beneath his pillow. Being a Drakon is not a life sentence,
Harry thought. It is a chance at happiness and true family…Family. The word
alone conjured by childish presumptions on what a family should be and as he
closed his eyes all Harry could see where his parents, supportive and loving, a
nameless wife and children; people who cared about him greatly and he who could
rely on endlessly. He knew he had that in his friends, people like Remus and
Dumbledore, and the Weasley family was something like a surrogate family even
if their relationship was currently strained. But all this would disappear,
vanish because he wasn’t anything remotely human anymore. Because he was
a Drakon and they mated for life.
For too long he had been expected to give and give until there was nothing left
of him. He was expected to fight a war he never knew existed until years
before, to kill a man for the greater good of others; to die for the very same
people who could blame him for anything that went wrong. But the truth of the
matter is deep inside, tucked away where no one could see his weakness, Harry
was scared. He was frightened at the thought of dying, he was scared to
disappoint people, and he was scared that facing Voldemort would make him into
the very person he hated. He didn’t want to be a killer and he didn’t want to
be killed.
Still he couldn’t run from his problems. He had tried that enough times with
the Dursley’s to know that, at least. So what was there to do now? Accept your
reality for what is, whispered a voice in his head that sounded uncannily like
Dumbledore. This does not change you as a person, Harry, and you have done
enough in your young life to warrant a chance at peace.
With a frustrated moan, Harry rolled onto his back and stared at the moonlit
ceiling above him. His options were rather constricted as Annas had so kindly
inform him. He could embrace this newfound change, become a Drakon and find
himself a mate and possibly have children with this person, or he could deny it
and go into vicious rage cycle and destroy himself and everyone else.
“Unfair,” Harry murmured. “This is too unfair.”
Pulling himself upright by the palms, Harry abused the corners of his lips,
rendering them bright red and tasting a burst of blood on his tongue as he
viciously wiped away his tears in anger. Crying wouldn’t change anything, it
wouldn’t make any of this go away no matter how much he wanted to brawl his
eyes out. Sniffling softly, Harry picked up the heavy textbook titled Magical
Creatures & Where to Find Them, cracked open the cover and (after skimming
through the context list) flipped past the introduction chapter. 
 
DRAKON ― Of The Dragon Kind
Drakons are a rare form of magical creatures that were first discovered in
Nepal around 1523 by British beast exhibitionist Brutus Colt. During this year
and sequential centuries, the Drakon race was abundant in the populace. It was
until they were officially declared Dark Creatures by the British Ministry of
Magical Creature & Regulations in 1879 that they were demoted from beings to a
beast. Consequently, this permitted poachers to hunt and kill Drakons for their
scales, organs, blood and many times for their chicks which were sold in the
thousands of Galleons. Presently there is as few as a hundred Drakons worldwide
due to poaching of their kind and continuous breeding with humans to defer
detection.
 
CLASSIFICATION TYPE ― Dominant & Submissive
There are two types of Drakons: a Dominant and Submissive, or as they are known
by Wizarding folk, Alpha, and Beta.
Dominant Drakons, or Alpha as many cultures have dubbed them based on pack
(werewolf) hierarchy, are the majority in Drakon numbers. Ninety-nine percent
of the time Dominant Drakons are male though in some special cases there have
been rumored female Dominated, two which have been proven around 1777 and 1928.
Dominant Drakons are known to be highly temperamental and vicious if provoked
or their submissive and chicks are under threat/threat of danger. Due to the
nature of their kind, Dominant Drakons are known to kill anything they perceive
to be a danger on sight, and their violence grows during a period of time when
their submissive have fallen into heat, pregnant, or is nesting in
perpetrations for birth. Dominant Drakons are territorial, possibly due to the
nature of the family closeness to living dragons, and are even more possessive
of their submissive.
Counter to Dominant Drakons a Submissive, or Beta, are reportedly female ninety
percent of the time, but there are rumored cases of male Submissive. This fact
has yet to be confirmed or denied as Dominant Drakons are known to hide away
their Submissive mates. Submissive male Drakons, like female Dominates, are
known to be exceptionally rare. Though it has yet to be proven, male
Submissives are said to have the ability to be impregnated and give birth to
young as well as nurse them should they see fit. This is only assumed as
possible if the Submissive (male) should mate with a Dominant Drakon as it has
been verified that copulating with human men have left female Submissives
unable to bear young. The cause of this is unknown, though presumed to be a
defense in the female Drakons body to keep her from mating outside of her
species. This does not affect Dominant Drakons, however, who decide to mate
with human females and successful breed with her. Though it cannot be proven,
it is guessed that male Submissives and Submissives, in general, are anomalies
like female Dominates and thus cannot copulate with humans. This is only an
assumptions, however, and fact has yet to be proven from fiction.
Physically where Dominates Drakons are much larger in size (this being so they
protect their Submissives and chick, and attract the attention of prospective
Submissives), Submissives are smaller, though they can be highly dangerous when
provoked. An estimated 20,000 deaths by a Submissive Drakon were due to a chick
being harmed or threatened. In cases such as these, a Submissive Drakons are
known to mutilate even their own mates in a fit of rage. Though, the likelihood
of a Submissive harming a Dominant is low, they have no qualms about
eliminating their own Dominates should they see them as a threat to their young
or unfit to be a mate. It is unlikely, of course, but not impossible. A
Submissive in some cases may have more than one mate, though the reason for
this is unknown exactly as to why seeing as Drakons are so few in numbers and
hide themselves away. Powerful Submissives are said to require more Dominates
in order to successfully mate and carry a clutch.
Both types of Drakons are easily adaptable to their environment. Drakons are
near completely invulnerable; the only known way to harm or kill one is with a
sword forged in Dragons blood. Significant other forces, such as repeatedly
being hit with spells, can daze them, but causes no permanent damage.
PHYISCAL APPEARANCE
A Drakons physical appearance is made to both attract and intimidate other
Drakons, as well to change to allow discrete adaptation  into human territory.
Dominant Drakons in their true dragon forms are quite large. One witness who
saw them described them as "huge", the distance between the claws on one of
their feet was shown, by the victim's wound, to be about two to three inches,
thus implying it to be gigantic. Its wingspan is enough to cause reasonably
strong winds by flapping them. Despite their size, they can move with
incredible speed, agility and stealth through the air. A Dominant Drakon has
dark scales, ranging from in dark shades of all colors excluding white. Their
scales cover approximately seventy to ninety percent of their body, excluding
their wings which are covered entirely in scales. They have a wingspan of
twenty to thirty feet – though the size of their wings is factored by their
age, weight, height, and power. When facing a potential mate, a Dominant will
display his wings in order to impress her.
A SubmissiveDrakon, unlike their counterpart, cannot change into their true
form. The reason is said because they do not need to be impressive or change
themselves when they are mated and have a Dominant to protect them and their
clutch. Because of their smaller sizes, should a SubmissiveDrakonbe able to
change it is estimated that she is relatively a quarter the size and body mass
of a Dominate. A Submissives scales range from the lightest shades, and there
are a rare few whose wings have been completely white, leaving them to be the
most desired. When a Submissive mates, her wings will take on the same tones of
her Dominant near the base. Her scales themselves cover less than sixty percent
of her body and her entire wings. Because a Submissive is smaller and lighter,
her wingspan ranges from eleven to fourteen feet. This being that she has no
primary use for them, and only reveals them when she needs to flee.
Both Dominant and Submissive Drakons use their wings for flight. They are
incredibly capable flyers, able to move with great speed and maneuverability,
and still demonstrate great stealth despite their enormous size. Each as also
equipped with fangs and claws, though in Dominates they are considerably
bigger. A Drakon uses its fangs and claws when hunting, killing or on the
defense. In Submissives, their claws are known to secrete an acidic liquid that
can burn through flesh, tissue and bone.
 
RELATIONSHIP
The Relationship between a Dominant and Submissive is comparative to that of
wild creatures such as werewolves. A Dominant plays the primary role of
protector, provider, and should he see it fit punisher. When a Submissive
misbehaves a Dominant will punish them as they see fit though never do they
permanently harm their Submissive. As prideful and vain creatures, such as
Dragons, Drakons will never scar their Submissives as a Submissive (especially
one of beauty and strength) is a source of great pride for the Dominate.
A Submissive Drakon is expected to only protect her young and be subservient to
her Dominates wishes.
 
BREEDING, NESTING & BIRTH
Submissive Drakons go into heat several times per year, but it has been
concluded that there is only one period of time in which a female Drakon can be
impregnated. Breeding cycles for a female Drakon vary depending on the
Submissive themselves. A notable time for Submissives to breed and conceive is
during the winter, this being the most common time amongst Submissives. During
theirheats, a Submissive Drakon, and her Dominant will not feed during this
cycle, continuously mating for an average period of ten days to ensure the
largest possible number of offspring’s.
The gestations period of a Submissive Drakon ―
 
The voluminous book was thrown across the room, colliding noisily with the
locked bedroom door. He heard the grunts coming from Dudley’s room, smelled the
stench of arousal and sweat, and heard the quiet wheezes of breath from Aunt
Petunia – all of this and more because he was some dragon hybrid. Creature, he
corrected himself sardonically, you are a creature now.
He cringed. Just thinking of it that way was discomforting. This – whatever
this was – could not go on. There was no way he could possibly return to
Hogwarts as a blasted Drakon. Standing up to pace with agitation, Harry tried
to think of whom he could relay such sensitive information to and actually
receive the necessary help. He could write to Dumbledore, he would, actually if
the Headmaster would be kind enough to respond to his letters. Harry,
frustrated beyond belief, kicked the rubbish bin as he stalked past. Hedwig,
who had been slumbering up until then, jerked awake with a startled hoot.
Harry stared at the ruffled familiar for a moment and sighed. “I’m sorry,
girl,” he said, scowling at the soft pitch of his voice. “It’s just…All of this
is too much and…Why me?” He finished weakly, and Hedwig hooted once more in
concern for her owner.
Harry, dropping onto his bed back first, continued to bemoan the horrid
circumstances he had gotten himself into. Maybe this was a dream, he thought
without any real conviction, Maybe I’m still in the Hospital Wing unconscious
from Voldemort’s attack…
“Ouch!” Crying out at the sharp bite of the beak that was delivered to his
sensitive flesh, Harry rubbed at the bruised skin of his arm as he turned to
glare at Hedwig. She hooted again, nudging her head against his arm in apology.
“Well, there goes the dream theory,” he mumbled, turning onto his stomach to
bury his face in the lumpy pillow with a defeated groan. “What am I going to
do, Hedwig?”
She hooted uncertainly.  
 
===============================================================================
                                        
                                        
The hottest day of the summer by far had done tremendous damage to the
occupants of Privet Drive. Deprived of their usual car-washing and lawn-mowing
deeds, the inhabitants of the large, square houses had retreated inside to
escape the sweltering heat that had reduced their lawns to a parched yellow and
their cars to a dust covered husk in the driveways. A drowsy silence hung in
the air, broken only by the low drones of televisions sounding from open window
living areas and distant hum of traffic and birds. It was in this blistering
heat that one Harry Potter was making his way up the street of Privet Drive.
For the first time in more than a week since his transformation, Harry had
drawn out of his shell of misery and self-pity. Showering had become a new and
awkward affair as Harry felt like he was touching a body that was not his own.
Furthermore, he had begun to feel an uncomfortable, burning itch between his
shoulder blades sometime last night. As much as he loathed the thought of
reading more about Drakons – his kind – he presently had no one to turn to.
Perched atop the highest branch of the old tree in number fours garden, Harry
absently tucks a loose lock of hair behind his ear as he opens the book. He
skimmed through the section he had already read the night before and resumes
where he had left off at.
 
BREEDING, NESTING & BIRTH
Submissive Drakons go into heat several times per year, but it has been
concluded that there is only one period of time in which a female Drakon can be
impregnated. Breeding cycles for a female Drakon vary depending on the
Submissive themselves. A notable time for Submissives to breed and conceive is
during the winter, this being the most common time amongst Submissives. During
theirheats, a Submissive Drakon, and her Dominant will not feed during this
cycle, continuously mating for an average period of ten days to ensure the
largest possible number of offspring’s.
The gestations period of a Submissive Drakon is approximately seven months.
During that time, the Dominant(s) are severely protective of their Submissives
and are known to attack anyone – even members of their own family – for drawing
too close. It is believed that in order for a health clutch of chicks to be
born the Dominant must frequently share bodily fluids with his Submissive.
Though it is said to vary depending on the Submissive the signs of pregnancy
are comparable to that of normal humans. It includes, but not limited to,
nausea, dizziness, irritability, a burst of accidental magic, sensitivity to
light and cold, and cravings for raw meat.
When the Submissive reaches her nesting period (the final trimester of
pregnancy) she would leave in search for high, dark places and will remain
there until they have given birth. During a Submissives nesting, the Dominant
partner is not permitted to enter as the female Drakon gives birth alone. A
Submissive can give birth to up to five chicks. It should be noted that for a
time that Submissive can remain isolated from her Dominants while she nurses
her chicks. This bonding period usually last between one to two weeks before
the Submissive allows the Dominant(s) partner to enter the nesting area.
Drakon chicks are said to be nursed for up to twelve weeks before reaching a
developmental stage of growth in which they can be weaned should the Submissive
wish to cease nursing.
 
As insightful as that provided portion was, it was not necessarily helpful to
Harry. Flipping through the entire chapter back-and-forth proved to be a
pointless task. There was nothing in the index search that provided him with
clues on why his back ached and burned so fiercely. Closing the book and
stroking the spine to keep the monstrous book at ease, Harry found himself
staring off into the distance. Not for the first time in his life, he found
himself feeling trapped and terribly alone. There was no one he could talk to
about this for, as Elder Annas had warned, telling anyone who wasn’t a Drakon
that he was one was, quite literally, signing his own life away. He would be
hunted down, and with him anyone whom he mated.
“Damned if I do anything and damned if I don’t, huh,” Harry muttered, pushing
his hair away from his face as he jumped down from the tree top. Holding the
slumbering, animate book close to his chest, the dark-haired boy was making his
way back inside when he was derailed by the sight of Elder Annas approaching
him. The old Drakon beamed at the frowning boy, taking Harry’s hand into his
own.
“Good afternoon, dear boy!” says Annas with a wide smile.
“Afternoon, sir,” Harry replies, allowing himself to be steered inside. He was
rather grateful that his relatives chose today to be out. Harry was rather
doubtful that his aunt and uncle would be so welcoming of the old man.
“Come, child, we must hurry and pack all your belongings,” Annas was saying and
Harry stopped them both at the foot of the stairs to frown up at the man.
“Why do I need to pack my things?”
“Why to come to the Gathering Hall, of course!” Annas said matter-of-factly.
“Your room is already prepared and the other Elders are quite eager to make
your acquaintance. Now, hurry along, we have much to prepare for when we arrive
at the Hall and time is wasting.”  
Harry grounded his teeth and stood his ground when the other Drakon attempted
to march him up the steps. “I don’t want to go,” he stated firmly.
“Child – “
“I’m not going!” interrupted Harry. “You can’t just barge your way into my home
and demand I go somewhere with you! I’m sick of it all! You and everyone –
always saying I have to do this or that! Always trying to tell me how I should
be living my own life and – and – AND I’VE HAD ENOUGH!”
No sooner had he finished screaming those words did an agonizing pain explode
from his back. Dropping to his knees and screaming into Annas’s robes as he
gripped the old man’s leg, Harry gasped and cried out once more at the ripping
sensation. The skin was stripped away and hot, thick liquid scissors down his
back. Harry barely heard the startled inhale from Annas when a hand closed over
his eyes.
“Be calm, child,” came the hasty whisper. “You’ll be fine.”
Harry had barely begun to utter a weak “It hurts” when his vision darkens.
Annas, gaping at the unconscious both with surprise etched deeply into his face
and eyes wild with amazement at the sight of the bloody wings that had
protruded from the young boy, gathered the youth into his arms. Careful to not
place pressure on the newly revealed wings, the old Drakon could only examine
with them wonder. Beneath the blood and mucous the wings were a pure, startling
shade of white. Under the fluorescent light they glitter, sending shards of
diamonds to reflect back at him.
Annas grins widely down at the slumbering Harry. “A true Bloodborne, indeed,”
he murmurs as he snaps his fingers. Within a few seconds all of Harry Potter’s
belongs had appeared next to him, locked away in the trunk. Shrinking it down
to miniature size and tucking it away, Annas cleans the blood from the
carpeting and walls with another snap of his fingers before vanishing from
Privet Drive with his new charge.
 
 
***** A Matter of Perception *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
                                      2.
                            A MATTER OF PERCEPTION
                                        
                                        
He woke up with a splitting headache. Groaning and peeling the side of his face
off the silky pillow, the rancid burn of bile in the back of his throat was all
the warning he received before Harry was pushing his torso over the edge of the
bed and vomiting. Caught between gagging at the foul taste and coughing as he
stomached clenched, he groaned weakly again and fumbled for the nightstand
where he usually kept his glasses. The space where the ancient furniture should
have been was empty, and for a few minutes Harry was confused as to when he had
moved it when all the events from the past forty-eight hours came rushing back.
That’s right, he thought tartly as he struggled to push himself upright. I’m a
Drakon now.Sighing and bringing up a hand to rub away the sleep from his eyes,
Harry was a tad taken aback at the décor of the room. Whereas his room at
number four had been small and sparsely furnished, this one was equally twice
the width and height of the Dursley’s living room. The walls were a rich, deep
champagne color with accented stripes of white. The carpet and plush furniture
(a French settee, two armchairs and a glass coffee table) were white as well.
In all, the room was a drastic difference from what he was used to.
Rubbing his face with another groan, Harry pulled himself upright in the center
of the bed. As he was stretching out his limbs, the heavy weight on his back
grew noticeable. Tentatively reaching behind him, Harry stalled the
ministrations of his fingers when they brushed against smooth leather. The
appendages on his back ached something terrible, warranting a tight lipped
groan from the boy as he swung his legs from beneath the silk duvet and stood
up. Harry had barely stretched the stiffness from his legs when the door to his
room burst open and an overly pleased Annas came bustling through. The old
Drakon was dressed in deep crimson robes with intricate designs of gold thread
sewn into the hems and sleeve. His hair was fluffed and controlled, and eyes
filled with a warmth that burned brighter when he reached Harry.
“Good morning, child!”
“Morning,” Harry mumbled, voice thick with sleep. “What – what happened?” He
looked down at the loose fit satin pajamas he wore. “Why am I wearing this?”
“Your other clothes were covered in blood, you see,” explained Annas as he
quickly ushered Harry into the en suite bathroom. It was made of porcelain and
gleamed white-gold, the tub easily twice the size of the one back at the
Dursley’s. “Your wings – they were a surprise for all of us. Submissives rarely
show their wings and have an ever harder time calling them forth freely.” He
frowned, patting Harry’s hand once before focusing on drawing a bath for the
young Drakon. “I’ve spoken to Elder Fraener on the matter and he will guide you
through the process of retracting your wings.”
“Can’t you teach me?”
Annas smiled at him slightly and shook his head. “In all my three hundred
years, child, I’ve never once called upon my wings. Submissives, you see, can
neither change their physical forms nor call upon their wings unless under dire
circumstances.” He cut of the tap and grabbed a container of pink beads that he
generously poured into the bath water. Seconds later it was filled with frothy
pink bubbles. “Don’t worry, though. We’ll make sure to provide you with all the
knowledge you will ever need. Now, undress so you can bathe.”
“You’re not going to leave?” Harry asked, uncomfortable at the thought of
undressing and bathing in front of a complete stranger.
“You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before,” clucked Annas, but nonetheless
he left Harry to his own accord when the he refused to budge.
Trying to bathe himself clean was difficult to say the least. Any accidental
brush to the base of his wings stung in irritation and his hair was proven to
be hindrance. Sniffing absently at the sweet smelling bubbles, Harry furrowed
his brows in thought. The school term begins in only a few short days and he
wasn’t prepared in the least. That, and Harry sincerely doubted he could return
to Hogwarts looking as he did without questions being asked. Sighing and
climbing gingerly out the tub, Harry grabbed a fluffy towel from off the rack
and wrapped it around himself. Outside, Annas was perched on the settee and
drinking a cup of tea.
“Your clothes for the day are on the bed,” Annas supplied between mouthfuls of
scones.
Harry, alternating between drying himself and his hair, blinked down at the
clothing that had been laid out for him. Grabbing the clothes and shuffling
back into the bathroom to change, Harry was uncertain on whether he really
could wear material so fine. The fabric slipped between his fingers like water,
the white silk faintly glimmering under the florescent light. Drawing on the
pants and pulling the draw string into a tight knot, Harry pulled the tight fit
shirt on next. It was peach colored and accented by golden buttons down the
middle and a sewn in dragons made of gold thread near the hem. There was wide
slit that began at his waistline, and while Harry was curious as to why the
shirt had slits on both sides, he didn’t question it.
When he returned to the bedroom, Annas beamed at him. “It suites you,” he
complimented, patting the space beside him. “Come eat. I’ll fix your hair for
you.”
Harry sat down beside Annas, careful to keep his restless wings away from the
elders’ personal space as he ate. The blueberry scones were dusted with
powdered sugar that melted in his mouth with each bite. Humming contentedly
with each bite, Harry ignored each yank of a brush going through his hair from
root to tip. By the time Annas had successfully managed to pull all the knots
from his hair, Harry had gone through the scones and was starting on the
muffins while nursing a cooling cup of tea.
“How are you feeling?” Annas asked, fingers moving deftly in a downward motion
as he created a braid.
“Overwhelmed, I suppose,” Harry stated, wiping the corners of his mouth clean.
“I mean – I still have a lot of questions. About what I should and shouldn’t
do. How I’m going to deal with this and Voldemort – what my friends would
think. How this happened to me…. things like that.”
“I will try to answer your questions to the best of my knowledge, Harry,” Annas
said. “I know this is difficult for you to digest but do not lose hope. A great
future awaits you, but only if you come to accept who you are.”
Harry didn’t respond for a long time. “I…it’s just a lot to handle,” he finally
admitted with a sigh. When Annas finished with his task, Harry lowered his
empty cup and turned to face the man. “That and you basically kidnapped me.”
“Did I?”
“You did.” Harry sighed and rose to his feet. The wings on his back flexed,
arching outward. “How do I get rid of them?”
Annas smiled at him genially, getting to his feet as well and tucking Harry’s
arm into his own as he led the latter out of the bedroom. “You will have to
speak Fraener for that, my dear, but for now you must be introduced to the
others. They’ve been waiting for you.”
“Oh, joy,” muttered Harry, sullenly.
===============================================================================
                                        
Contrary to its name, the Gathering Hall, home of the Privy Council and
convention of Drakon’s was not in fact, a hall, but rather an impressive manor
that was surrounded by miles of sprawling greens.  Annas had given him a quick
tour of the grounds, even encouraging Harry to explore the nearby forest in his
own time or even spend his leisure hours in the rose garden – with a chaperone
present, of course, as a precaution. The manor itself was charmed to house an
innumerable amount of guest rooms that closely resembled that one Harry
currently occupied, and a ballroom that was easily twice the size of a Qudditch
field.
“Come time for Yule Tide, it will be filled with a great number of our kind,
mated and otherwise,” Annas said, steering Harry from the room before he could
get a better look at it. “Before then, we’ll have to prepare you to the best of
our advantage.” He frowned a bit, opening heavy double doors that revealed a
circular chamber aligned with ceiling high bookshelves that were filled to the
brim. “It’ll be difficult, of course, to teach you centuries of Drakon history
within a short span of time, but I have utmost faith in Silas to teach you.”
“So, what is it that’ll you be teaching me again?” Harry asked curiously.
“The necessities of course.”
“Such as?”
“How to attract a potential dominate,” Annas said, laughing heartedly when
Harry balked at him. “My dear, you don’t live to be as old as I without having
a few tricks up your sleeve. Now, hurry along. The others are waiting for us in
the Council Room.”
Once more, Annas marched him to wherever it was he wanted, and Harry silently
mused that this starting to become a pattern. Perhaps this just how the man
operated – or he had dealt with far too many new Drakons who were stubborn and
their behavior had resulted in him grabbing and hauling them wherever he
pleased. When they arrived at the Council Room, five heads turned in their
direction. They were dressed in the same robes Annas still wore from the night
Harry first met him, but of the five, two were short – around Annas’s height
which led Harry to believe that they were Submissives.  They were both pretty
women with large, toffee brown eyes that took up much of their face, small
noses and cupid-bowed lips that were drawn in a smile. In fact, judging from
the shape of their face and the white-blonde of their hair, Harry guessed that
they were twins, if not at least siblings. The three men were all tall and
imposing figures, the first being heavily muscled with shoulder length onyx
hair that was tied back from his sharp, angular face and obsidian eyes that
zero in on Harry in scrutiny.  The second man, strangely enough, reminded Harry
of Cedric Diggory.  Though the coloring of his hair was different (blonde
instead of chestnut brown) and his eyes were a darker shade of gray, he held an
air to him – a warmth that conjured an image of the kind young man. The third
man was burly, barrel chested with thick, russet colored hair that was cut
short and streaked with grays, and mercury irises that held a hardness to them.
“This the boy than,” grunted the russet-haired man, his head tilting from side-
to-side as he took in Harry’s appearance. “He doesn’t look like much.”
“Hush, Ormr,” said one of the women. “Your rudeness is intolerable, as always.”
She turns to Harry with a welcoming grin. “Hello, Harry Potter. We have been
most anxious to meet you. I am Adelind.” She gestures a hand to the woman
beside her. “My sister, Melusine.” 
“Hello,” Melusine says, inclining her head to Harry who returns it with a
murmured ‘hello’ and nod of the head.
“Don’t mind Ormr,” Annas said, patting Harry’s arm. “He hasn’t had a sensible
bone in that withered old body of his.”
“Withered! Pah! If am withered, you’d be nothing but bones, Annas,” retorted
Ormr, glowering at the elder Drakon.
Annas rolls his eyes, sighing in exasperation. “Yes, yes, I am the oldest of
you all – we have discussed this many a times, now, if you’d please. We have
more important matters to get to.” He directed Harry’s focus to the two
remaining, unnamed men and promptly introduced them. “Harry, Elder Fraener and
Silas.”
The blonde man steps forward with his arms spread wide, and Harry is surprised
when he gathered into the man’s arms. “Harry Potter, it is a pleasure to
finally meet you,” he said, drawing back to look into Harry’s eyes. “My, he is
a beauty, wouldn’t you agree, Fraener?”
The dark-haired Drakon in question hmm’s thoughtfully. He looks Harry over once
more, lingering on his wings. “Yes, he is certainly a beauty.”
“Such lovely eyes,” Adelind says.
“The prettiest shade of green I’ve ever seen,” added Melusine.
Ormr grunts. “He’s alright looking, if you go for the scrawny sort.”
“Oh, hush you,” the women, and Annas, chorused.
Silas tucks a wayward strand of hair behind Harry’s ear, his fingers perched
against his cheek before he retreated fully and finally allowed Harry his own
space. He turned his attention to Annas, a wide smile stretched across his
face. “He couldn’t have come to us at a more opportune time.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Annas said.
“Opportune time?” parroted Harry, his eyes widening. “What’s that supposed to
mean?”
“Oh, don’t tell me he’s one of those airheads,” muttered Ormr and Harry sent a
glare his way. He was starting to dislike the other Drakon more and more.
The others ignored his input, and it was Melusine who answers his question. “He
is speaking of the dwindling numbers of Submissives. You are one of three to
present within this year, one less than the year before,” she says grievously.
“We try to find them upon them reaching maturity, or inheritance, but we always
seem to be a step behind the poachers.”
“And if not capturing fledging Drakons in the midst of their maturity, they
simply hunt those already mated and . . . “Adelind trails off, unable to finish
her words but she does not need to say them for Harry to understand.
From what he had read in his school textbook, Drakon hunting was legal –
encouraged even. The kidnapping, the murders, it was all legal and it did not
matter if the Drakon in question was just a little baby. His fingers ball into
fist, nails cutting into the skin of his palms as anger unfurled within him
slowly. Even if he didn’t want this, he cannot help but feel anger. Innocent
people – every one of them were innocent, and even if some of them weren’t the
best people, nobody deserved to be gutted like some animal.
“You are lucky, Harry Potter,” Ormr said, jolting him from his thoughts, “that
Annas was quick to come to you.”
“It would have better if he’d brought you back with him,” Silas says with a
sigh. “But he did not want to startle you into flight.”
“Speaking of flight,” Annas said, recalling Harry’s request. “Fraener, if you
have the time, will you help Harry with his wings?”
“What is wrong with them?” asked the man, and Harry must force himself to not
step back when the Drakon male looms before him, his wings tucking into his
body.
“I can’t go back to school with bloody wings on my back,” Harry said as civilly
as he could manage. “Or looking like this for that matter.”
“You look like a doll,” Silas croons at the boy, a coy grin on his face. “Such
a delicate thing you are, Harry.”
He was teasing him, Harry knew that, but a blush still colored his cheeks.
Silas burst into a peal of laughter that is joined by the others who chuckle
merrily, Ormr excluded from this. “Well, with that settled, it is time we begin
your lessons,” Annas says. “There’s much to be learned and little time to do
so, chop-chop everyone!”
===============================================================================
                                        
                                        
Harry was, unsurprisingly, not adapt to flying without a broom. Try as he might
to follow Fraener’s instructions and allow instinctto guide him, he simply
could not place his trust in a pair of bloody wings; even if they were attached
to him. After two hours of this, Fraener finally allowed him to rest up, and
while he didn’t outright say it was hopeless, his comment gave Harry the
impression he’d expected as much. “Flight is difficult for Submissives. It’s
simply a matter of biology.”
Bullshit, Harry thinks as he trudges after the Elder Dominate. He could do it,
he knew he could if just a little more practice, and maybe an instructor who
spent more time teaching him and not ogling him. Grumbling quietly under his
breath, Harry all but bumped into Fraener when the Dominate came to a pause.
“What?” he said, eying the man wearily.
Fraener turned to regard him, his lips thin and eyes inquisitive. “I didn’t
take you for the sort to give up so easily, Mister Potter,” he said.
“I’m not giving up!” Harry shot back, more offended than he’d ought to have
been. “You’re not the only one trying to cram centuries of knowledge into my
head, y’know. I’m trying.”
“You’re not trying hard enough,” counter Fraener coolly. “You cannot expect
yourself to achieve success while carrying doubt, boy. It defeats the purpose
of learning, and is an insult to us all. I cannot change your mind on the
matter of your heritage, Harry Potter – and I will not attempt to do so. If you
cannot make peace with who, and what, you are, you will always fall short.”
Harry stiffens, surprised by the almost reproachable berating he’d received.
For a moment, his eyes didn’t waver from the stoic face of the Dominate Drakon,
and when the heavy, unwavering irises became too much for, lowered his eyes. He
knew that Fraener was right; deep down, the man was telling the truth, harsh as
it was. He could fly, if he really wanted to, probably better than he’d ever
done on a broom. But he couldn’t. Try as he might to wrap his mind around this
strange circumstance and swallow the entirety of the truth, he couldn’t.
“I’m trying,” he reiterates quietly. “At least I’m trying. Isn’t that enough?”
“No, it isn’t.”
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Ten years later, an update finally occurs. Wow, even I'm surprised.
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