Fellowship & Fairydust

By LastCrazyHorn

Word Count: 105891

Rating: PG-13 for brief language, violence, and depictions of abuse

Summary: A disabled Harry comes to Hogwarts story. Everyone expects him to be like his dad, but how can he be with such a different past? A Slytherin Harry takes on Hogwarts in an unusual way

Dumbledore’s portkey deposited him just south of Hagrid’s hut, half an hour into dusk.  The old man scowled as he picked himself up from the ground.  It was unusual that a portkey should drop him hard enough to make him stumble.  Somehow he suspected that Hogwarts had something to do with it.  His arse had ached fiercely after the removal of his portkey, and his landing only exacerbated that problem.   How unfortunate it would be should he run into any of the traitors that had locked him up.  He might be tempted into using a few of the more violent spells in his arsenal to make up for the pain and humiliation he was currently suffering.

Thoughts thus derailed, he completely failed to notice the rather large shadow residing at the darkened edges of the Forbidden Forest.

Harry-dragon, or Singe–as he now referred to himself in his mind–narrowed his eyes as he took in the somewhat disheveled appearance of the once vaunted headmaster.  

“Sire?” He voiced in his mind.  

He crept forward, thankful to the darkness that was reinforced by the beginning of dusk combined with the smoke from his and Hagrid’s respective fires.  Baby popped her head out too, but he automatically shoved her back down behind him.  

Bad, he thought with a fierceness that surprised even him.  Taste nasty.  Don’t touch.  I’ll get rid of it.

“Singe?” Severus’ voice rumbled deep within his thoughts.  

“Where is Dumbledore supposed to be?”

…

In Dorking, Severus suddenly stopped and went slightly glassy eyed.

Recognizing the familiar sight of Snape mentally “talking” with his grandson–granddragon?–Moody took that time to pull out a much worn handkerchief and carefully wipe away any leftover emotional residues from his face.  Tears weren’t a concern, as he was fairly certain he no longer had the capability to cry, but snot was a sight better left unseen by the rest of the populace.  And beside, he didn’t really care to have something else for Snape to poke fun at, even if it didn’t really bother him.  It was far more interesting to poke fun at the other man.  

“Son?” Severus voiced within Singe’s mind.

“Dumbledore,” Singe repeated, intensity beginning to build in his tone. “Where’s he supposed to be now?”

“Infirmary, with Poppy,”  Was his sire’s succinct reply.

“Not free then?”

Severus shook himself and glanced at Moody before motioning them outside.  

“Dumbledore is supposed to be under lock and key.”

“What’s goin’ on?” Moody gruff voice broke Severus of his momentary shock.

“Albus is free of the infirmary.”

“Blast!”

. . .

He swore as he stumbled again.  The lengthening shadows made seeing difficult, and although he knew that lighting a simple lumos would be simpler said than done, he also didn’t want to take on the risk of facing any more trouble before he finally escaped the wards.  

It wasn’t far to the Forbidden Forest, and then straight from there to freedom.  He needed to regroup and have time to plan.  He needed time to consider what had gone wrong with his spell over Harry.  He had fed the boy the necessary potions during the first few years of his residency with the Dursleys.  He hadn’t expected the damage that an automobile accident would have on his weapon, but it was a workable situation.  

The potions laid the groundwork for the boy’s magical instability.  And then from there, it was only a question of putting enough stress for the lad to be pushed into an untenable situation.  He hadn’t known that the spell would cause Harry to morph into a dragon, but considering the lad’s history, it wasn’t entirely unsurprising.  

Puer ignis.  Child of Fire.  Fire was far more than just a state of burning.  It was in and of itself a beginning and an end.  Fire cleansed.  Fire started and fire ended.  He and Gellert had created the spell and then he had further modified its original design into something far more dangerous.

Originally, the Child of Fire spell allowed the caster to utilize the turbulent emotions of a child who had not yet reached maturity and turn them into something physical.  The spell was capable of producing power of unimaginable levels, and by binding the child to himself, he would be able to transfer that power to his own core.  He would be able to wield that power, and in doing so, he would enslave the source of that power to himself.  

It had been a brilliant plan, except for one insurmountable detail.  

Harry wasn’t bound to him.  All of his compulsion spells, all of his potions . . . all of the work to cover his tracks when the worthless Dursleys had lost his weapon to the wretched depths of the Muggle world; it was all for naught.  

Perhaps it had been the boy’s disability.  Perhaps the Sorting Hat’s refusal to sort him into Gryffindor where he belonged had been the straw that broke the chimera’s back. 

Whatever the reason, there was still the fact that his weapon was a creature of nearly unlimited destructive power and regardless of what he did, his weapon would never answer to him.  

It was enough to make him smolder.

Dumbledore blinked at the sudden darkness that surrounded him before beginning to cough.  Smoke was billowing across his face like a foul thick fog, and just as he raised his wand to cast a bubble-head charm, his eyes caught on something.

“Lumos!”  He called, not wanting to be caught unawares by whatever creatures felt the need to hunt at the very edge of the forest. 

His breath caught in his throat and he tripped backward over his robes in an attempt to get away from the sharply lined mouth that had appeared less than an arm’s length away from his nose.

The beast rising before him was all tooth and claw.  Sharp edges bled into sharper crevices, flowing around him like the murky recesses of a hard to wake from nightmare.

“Harry?  My boy?  Is that you?”

A growl was his only answer.

. . .

Singe half ran, half flew to where he had last seen the headmaster.  A dank fog had started rolling not minutes after the man’s graceless landing, obscuring his sight.  He hoped to Merlin and beyond that the man hadn’t escaped in the meantime.  

An inhuman screech filled the skies, lifting the scales across his spine in a uncomfortable way, as he burst into the scene at the edge of the forest.  

Dumbledore’s wand was out, and Singe watched as the older man threw volley after volley of increasingly violently coloured light at the fully grown Norwegian Ridgeback that was steadily edging him closer and closer to the frozen over lake at his back.  

The dragon was easily the size of a double-decker, possibly two, and Singe felt himself shrink backward away from the fight as he began to understand truly how frightening a full grown dragon was.  Moments later, Baby half skipped-rolled onto the sight of the fight, and then it was abruptly as though time stopped around him. 

Dumbledore, panting wildly from atop bended knee, looked wildly around to try and understand why his nightmare had ceased.  Joining his attacker of flame and nail was another two dragons, one barely an adolescent and the other a mere infant.  

From his right, he heard the tell-tale crack of double apparitions, but his brief hope for rescue died as soon as it began when he realised exactly who was staring back at him from across the pools of melted snow upon Hogwarts’ battle singed lawn.

“Ah, Alastor.  Severus.  What grand timing you two have.  I do hope you’re here to lend an old man some aid?  I seem to have gotten a wee bit lost on my way to the kitchens for a snack.”  

Severus didn’t answer him, and instead with a look of great concentration, actually walked straight into the conglomeration of the three dragons opposite him.

“Have you lost what’s left of yer brain, ol’ man?” Was Moody’s incredulous response.  

“Yeh’ve been arrested.  I bloodly well arrested yeh!”  Moody rolled his eye in tandem with his other.  “Yeh’ve lost.  Yeh’ve lost the path, yeh’ve lost the match, and if I have anythin’ to say about it, yeh won’t ever make it out of here alive.  Yeh’ve gone too far this time, ol’ man.”

Albus snorted aloud.  

“Lost?  I think not.  You’ve got three dragons to deal with.  I sit here on the very edge of the apparition boundaries.  The only thing between it and me is you.  I could beat you with one hand behind my back.  Come now, old man.  Let us be truthful.”

“Truthful?  Truthful is that I owe yeh one from Sam.”  Moody’s lip curled unpleasantly.  “Yeh ought ta have not ever gone after me sister, Dumbledore.  I can handle a bit of bribery; I don’t know of any aurors who haven’t come across someone offering them a good deal on something unsavory, but yeh don’t get to hurt my family.”

“Well then, let’s have it out then, shall we?  A good old honor duel,” Dumbledore laughed, and then spat bright red into the chilled early evening air.  

“You would like that, but that’s not what I was aimin’ fer,” Moody grinned.  

And then Dumbledore screamed.  And he screamed even harder as large teeth ripped the rest of the way through his shoulder, leaving the socket of his arm gleaming white under the barely risen moon. 

“One arm behind your back, yeh say, Albus?  If yeh insist.  I told yeh not to mess with family.  That one was fer Sam, this one is fer me.”  Moody raised his wand.

Dumbledore’s world went black.

. . .

Singe stared up at the fully grown Norwegian Ridgeback and it stared right back down at him.  He felt himself being judged, and could not be certain that he would necessarily pass the unspoken testing. 

“Little one,” Spoke in his head, slower and somehow with more weight than his father’s voice carried. 

“What do you ask of me, great Mother?” 

“Do not fear me, for we are same, though different.  We are both alike and yet not.  Unusual though you are, you have my gratitude for finding my lost one and keeping her from the harm this twisted creature might caused unto her,” She said, indicating the still bent Dumbledore.  

Singe’s eyes widened as he realised that Dumbledore was speaking with Moody.  

When had he arrived?

“Your sire is making his way toward us now as well,” She bespoke to him, amusement crinkling through.

“Baby is yours?”  He hesitantly voiced.

“And also yours.  For though we are both here and now, you are also later and I am before.”

Unbeknownst to Singe, his conversation with his Baby’s egg mother was filtering its way down to Severus, and the potions master listened with utmost awe. 

“Are you also . . .” He trailed off, uncertain of how to answer. 

“Speak and be not afraid.  I owe you a great debt.  I shall never eat you or yours.”

“Are you also human?  Or am I the only dragon with two forms?“

“I am only dragon, but dragon is not only me.  Dragon speak is not limited to only my species, despite dragons being unable to speak.  Everything speaks, if only one listens.”

“But I can’t hear, how can I listen?”

The great mother dragon cocked her head.  

“I cannot hear, but I can listen.  Perhaps you are dragon not because of your form, but because you listen like a dragon.”

“Dragons are deaf?”

“Snakes are deaf.  Dragons are thus and more.  We hear beyond the aural.”  She paused and started stalking off toward Dumbledore.  

“I see a snack on the horizon.  My babe has need of fresh blood.”  

Singe and Severus watched in fascination and horror as she bit directly through the headmaster’s wand arm, swallowing it and the wand whole.  

“A bit gamey.  Perhaps there are better meats inside the wooded area.  Come, baby.”

Baby followed its mother into the Forbidden Forest.  At the very edge, it looked back at Singe and cocked its head.

Singe tried to swallow past the lump in his throat at its unvoiced question. 

“No, go on.  I’ll find my way here with my sire.”

Another look. 

“I mean it. I’ll be fine.”

A lingering glance.

“Do as you’re told!”

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