Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Chronicle of Scales: Dragkyn Rising	By : BrutalTrvth Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 32267 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: The magical world of Harry Potter was created by JK Rowling. Therefore I don't own it. I'm also not getting paid for this.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
15 Years Later
   Ten foot breakers lashed at the seabound rock, trying to drag it under the waves just as they had done every day for the last ten thousand years. Sometime in the last seventy years a hardy - some would have said foolish - soul had built a driftwood hut upon the rock. The current owners had rented it out as a cabin, with an outboard included as transport, though Harry thought that was a bit of a stretch. There were gaps and cracks in the wall that didn’t so much leak as pour, the roof was little more than sheets of newspaper bound together by a thick layer of tar, and the only heat came a from a small wood burning stove that was barely large enough to heat a kettle for tea.
   Harry absolutely loved it. Not, as some would later believe, because he was some sort of glutton for punishment, but because for the first time in his life the rest of his family was just as miserable as he was. He had been the Dursley’s butler/cook/whipping boy for as long as he could remember, and had hated every minute of it. Now they were stuck in the same horrible situation he had lived all his life. Aunt Petunia was twisting and turning as she discovered what it was like to try to sleep on a hardwood floor with little more than a thin blanket, while her son, Dudley, kept up a constant litany on how bored he was and how he wanted his video games or even a book. The last was so unusual, at least where Dudley was concerned, that it was as if Genghis Khan had suddenly announced that he was suddenly giving up the whole conquest business in order to spend the rest of his life nursing baby bunnies. The last member of the Dursley clan, Harry’s Uncle Vernon, was sitting on a rickety stool clutching a rusted shotgun that had been discovered under some moldy cloth at the back of the cabin, right next to a box of shells that appeared to have last been opened sometime around World War II. He was rocking back and forth in an attempt to stay awake and guard the front door of the shack.
   All because Uncle Vernon refused to let Harry have any post.
   The letters had started arriving slowly at first, just one a day with the regular post. Uncle Vernon had been quick to snatch them away, tearing them in half right in front of Harry while ranting about what a wasteful prank it was. After about a week of this the letters began arriving in twos and threes, to which Vernon responded by having Dudley, who closely resembled a baby whale in weight and shape, sit on Harry while the letters were collected and destroyed.
   Then the owls began to appear, just as the number of letters saw a dramatic increase. It was almost as if the person responsible for the letters could see what Uncle Vernon was doing and refused to give in. Harry still didn’t manage to acquire any of his letters, but had made the acquaintance of some rather baffled bird watchers while taking out the trash one night. Having two dozen Great Grey Owls, birds that weren’t usually seen outside of North America, hanging out in the middle of Little Whinging was unexpected to say the least. The fact that they were joined by fellow hooters from three other continents was like finding the deed to Buckingham Palace in a bag of crisps. They had remained around the Dursley residence right up until someone alerted the Beeb, at which point the whole multispecies took off just as the news lorry was rounding the bend.
   Harry had his suspicions, especially when he saw the rather large and stupid grin spreading across Uncle Vernon’s face.
   But the nameless letter sender was not to be denied. The next day, despite it being Sunday, a day infamous for its lack of post, letters came pouring out of the house as if by magic. They came through the letter slot, through the windows, and through the cracks in the door frames. Flaming bundles came rocketing out of the furnace’s vents, while soggy parchment bubbled up from every drain and toilet.
   Enough was enough! Uncle Vernon had snatched up his wife and both boys and shoved them into the back of the family car. Harry couldn’t help but notice that he had been grabbed first, ensuring that he still didn’t have a chance to grab one of the letters. The Dursley’s ancient station wagon hadn’t been designed with speed in mind, but Uncle Vernon was determined to set new records as they raced towards the coast. When Harry looked out the window he could see the owls circling by the side of the road.
   The owls definitely weren’t circling now. The storm had seen to that. But Harry doubted something as mundane as a torrential thunderstorm would keep the letters at bay and couldn’t help but wonder what the mysterious letter sender still had up his sleeve. Judging from the way he was watching the door and clutching that shotgun, Harry could tell that Uncle Vernon was thinking the same thing.
   Whump.
Harry damn near jumped clear of his skin as the shack’s door rattled in its frame. A screw popped loose from the hinge at the bottom of the door and rocketed across the room where it struck Dudley in the forehead head first. Rather unfortunately, in Harry’s opinion. He would have preferred it struck the other way round..
   “This is private property!” Uncle Vernon screeched as the door was struck a second time. The wood around the bolt splintered as the bolt ripped free of the door frame. It didn’t have quite as much energy as the screw and simply clattered to the floor. Uncle Vernon’s hands started to tremble as he shouted, “I will fire in self defense!”
   WHAM
   The door came out of its frame like a thoroughbred tearing from the gate. Uncle Vernon flinched and pulled the trigger. The shotgun roared and a tongue of flame briefly lit the room. The distance made it impossible to miss, and the half-rotted door shattered under the impact of hundreds of tiny lead spheres. What it didn’t do, however, was stop. Vernon let out a shriek of surprise and pain as the cloud of splinters washed over him, tumbling him from his feet.
   A flash of lighting illuminated the doorway as a fresh gust of wind carried in more of the salt spray. Harry’s jaw dropped as he got his first look at the man standing in the storm. The man was far wider than the narrow door frame, and the only thing visible of his face was a long, unkempt beard that covered most of his chest. He had to stoop and twist sideways to enter the shack, at which point Harry found himself face to face with a creature out of a fairy tale nightmare.
   The giant was forced to kneel in order to avoid banging his head into the shack’s ceiling, but even then he towered over the young boy. He was dressed in a beaten leather long coat that looked to have been patched with the skin of a dozen different animals. A crossbow was slung across his back, though in anyone else’s hands it would have been a small siege weapon. Up close his eyes were dark and hard, and Harry could see salt starting to crust the giant’s beard as the ocean spray began to dry.
   “It’s been a long time, Harry,” the giant growled. Harry realized it wasn’t supposed to sound like a threat, the giant’s voice just seemed to default to intimidating. “Good to see you’ve been keeping healthy, at least.”
   “I-I try,” Harry stammered. He swallowed against the tightness in his throat and tried again. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
   “Name’s Rubeus Hagrid,” the giant answered, offering Harry a hand that was big enough to palm three soccer balls at the same time. Harry, not wanting to be rude and afraid of the consequences if he was. He was surprised by how gentle Hagrid’s grip was as the giant’s fingers closed over his forearm. The giant continued as they shook, “I’m the groundskeeper for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I’ve been sent by Headmaster Lupin to fetch you along and make sure you’ve got your supplies before the new school year.”
   “I’m sorry, what? You’re the groundskeeper for what?” Harry was obviously confused.
   “He’s not going!” Aunt Petunia screamed as she snatched up her fallen husband’s weapon and charged towards the intruder. “We’ve worked too hard to-”
   “Can it, muggle!” Hagrid roared, and this time Harry knew the giant was trying to be intimidating. It didn’t hurt that the groundskeeper had reached out with one hand, grabbed the still hot barrel, and proceeded to fold it in half with all the ease of a child playing with wet spaghetti.
   “Muggle?” Harry asked at the same time Petunia shrilled, “You can’t do this! I absolutely forbid it!”
   “Look here, woman,” Hagrid growled as he held a finger up less than an inch from her nose. “You can no more forbid this boy from attending Hogwarts than you could prevent the sun from rising before the moon. Its not just his right, it is his destiny!”
   “What is my destiny?” Harry demanded. The longer the conversation continued the more confused he became, and it was starting to make him angry.
   “Blimey, Harry, haven’t you ever wondered about your parents? Where your inheritance came from?”
   “All I know is that my parents died in a gas explosion,” Harry said, shaking his head. “And I don’t have any inheritance.”
   “Died in a gas explosion? No inheritance?” Hagrid’s voice dropped low, much the way the air becomes still right before a hurricane.
   “Please, stop…” Petunia whined.
   “I WILL NOT BE A PARTY TO YOUR LIES!” Hagrid’s anger drowned out even the fury of the storm raging outside. For one brief, dark, moment Harry was sure that the giant was about to kill his aunt. But Hagrid’s self control was greater than the young boy realized and he managed to avoid turning the cowering muggle into a blood smeared paste. Instead he took a deep breath to calm his emotions and turned to the boy he had been sent to fetch.
   “Your parents never died in any gas explosion, Harry,” the giant explained. His voice was steady, but there was an edge of sadness in his voice. “They were murdered in the last battle of a terrible war that was fought just before you were born. They were powerful fighters, your mum a witch and your da a wizard. That made them a target for those who craved power and willing to foster hatred to take it. There was a group of right bastards who thought they ought to be in charge of things, and was willing to kill to make that happen. They were led by a man who was driven by fear of his own mortality to do terrible things. It was that man who murdered your parents, that man who gave you that scar.”
   Harry reached up and traced the jagged lightning bolt that had been etched into his forehead for his entire life. “What happened to him?”
   “Died.” Hagrid sat back on his heels. “He died the same night he kill your parents. No one knows why. All that they know is that you were the one who killed him.”
   “But I was only a baby!” Harry protested.
   Hagrid nodded. “And he was one of the most powerful warlocks in known history, a master of death and destruction. But something stopped him from killing you that night. Whatever it was, however it worked out, when he cast his spell to kill you he died instead. Without him as their guide, his followers quickly fell apart. Some claimed to have been coerced, while others boasted of the horrors they had committed. A few went free, those with the power or wealth to have friends in high places. Most went to prison, where they’ll rot to their last day. The rest were killed by the aurors who tracked them down, unwilling to take responsibility for the crimes they had committed.”
   “But why?” Harry pressed. “Why me? What was so special about my family that this madman came for us personally?”
   “Because of what you are, Harry.”
   “Surely there’s more wizards than just me if there’s an entire school for it!”
   “It wasn’t because you’re a wizard, Harry.” Hagrid cocked his head to the side. “Haven’t you ever had the dreams where you are flying? Felt like your own skin was too tight? Like there was something inside of you trying to claw its way free?”
   Harry started to shake his head, then paused. As he stopped and thought about it, he realized that the giant’s words did sound familiar. He had always just chalked it up to growing older and wanting to escape the Dursleys. “I guess so.”
   “There’s a reason for that,” Hagrid said gently.
   “You’re a dragkyn, Harry.”
- 1
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Chronicle of Scales: Dragkyn Rising