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An Offering of Dragons	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 8786 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

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Thank you for all the reviews!
Chapter Two—Common Welsh Green
            “Is there any place here that isn’t up or down?” Draco moaned, and took Harry’s hand to step over another boulder.
            “Technically, this one is up and down at the same time,” Harry said helpfully, which made Draco turn his head and look at him with deadly, smoldering eyes for a minute. Harry grinned back. He thought Draco’s eyes were as beautiful as any dragon’s.
            “Technically,” said Draco, and glanced somewhat uneasily down the slope in front of them. Going by the technical definition, Harry thought, it was also somewhat greener than some of the ones they’d trod so far. The sparks of green were in between boulders or alongside them or so bowed that they didn’t resemble any plants Harry knew.
            But if you were going with technically…
            “Come on!” Their guide, a Welsh wizard named Landon Phelps, waved madly to them from the next slope. At least, Harry thought it was the next slope. From further up, it had seemed as though they were heading down into a little valley, but now it seemed more like it was a place people had agreed to call flat because it was flatter than some of the other things around them. “You’ll miss the hatching of the eggs if we don’t move on!”
            “You heard the man,” Harry told Draco, and jumped over a small rock. Because he was holding Draco’s hand, Draco had to jump with him at the same time.
            Draco turned his head and looked in despair at the mountains around them, not even the highest in sight; Landon had told them they were small for Wales, actually. The colors around them were grey, green, and brown. Harry could tell from Draco’s face what he was going to say next.
            “We should have stayed in our room,” Draco whined. “We could look at photographs of Welsh Greens perfectly well from there.”
            “Where is your sense of adventure?” Harry asked, and tugged on his hand lightly.
            “Where my breakfast is about to be,” Draco said, and clung to him as he suddenly spun and listed a little down the trail. Harry steadied him, and the rattling small stones rolled past Draco and settled in the “valley.” “It’s all right for you, you know. You’re an Auror. You probably do this sort of thing all the time.”
            “Not really,” Harry had to admit. “If I have to climb, it’s mostly stairs.” He smiled as Draco’s desperate gaze came back to him. “I won’t let you fall. Stumble, maybe, but not fall.”
            Draco smiled faintly, and opened his mouth to say something, but Phelps let out a sharp whistle, and the moment was lost. Harry started and turned in the direction of the whistle. When he glanced back at Draco, Draco had his hand shielding his eyes and was peering diligently into the distance.
            “There! There!”
            Phelps was pointing, and Harry tilted his head back. From the height of Phelps’s hand and aimed arm, he suddenly doubted that they were being directed to look exclusively at eggs.
            Sure enough, a dragon’s head was slowly cresting the ridge above Phelps. Harry made out two slim horns, and then the dragon heaved itself up on its hind legs, beat its wings once, and took off with a blast of air that made Harry reel and grab onto Draco.
            But he kept his promise. He and Draco both swayed back and forth like they were drunk, but they didn’t fall.
            The dragon wheeled slowly overhead, cocking its head down to stare at them. Harry stiffened, readying the Fire Prevention Charms he’d studied just in case, but the dragon only wanted to look at them, apparently. It yawned a second later, a dropping of its lower jaw that still made Draco squawk, and flapped away in a leisurely way behind the nearest hill.
            “Wasn’t that worth it?”
            Phelps was bouncing up and down on his slope. Harry nodded slowly, although he realized he hadn’t actually enjoyed looking at the dragon that much when it was directly overhead. He’d spent too much time worrying that it was simply going to swoop down and eat them.
            “There are lots more dragons where that one came from!” Phelps nodded excitedly over the hill “that one” had mounted. “This is the edge of the sanctuary. The dragons here are more used to people.”
            “As snacks?” Draco whispered.
            Harry put an arm around his shoulders and would have responded comfortingly, but Phelps had either heard Draco despite the distance between them or could guess what he was saying from the expression on his face. “They do not eat people,” Phelps stressed in a hard tone. “They prefer to avoid people. But we’ve had to get the dragons here used to Keepers coming in and out of the sanctuary, of course. And they won’t bother you if all you want to see is their eggs. Let’s go.” He began jogging between the boulders.
            “Are you sorry you came?” Harry whispered into Draco’s ear.
            Draco pulled his head back, looking offended. “Of course not!” he snapped. “But I have to admit it was nerve-wracking to have that thing overhead. Unless you’re about to tell me that you’re not concerned.”
            “I was concerned about you.” Harry cast a spell that floated Draco’s feet a short distance above the ground and then towed him gently forwards. “And that made it remarkably easy not to think about the dragon.”
            Draco couldn’t restrain a smile at that statement, but a second later, he was scowling. “If you say something like ‘Because I have my own dragon,’ I will punch you.”
            “Never crossed my mind,” Harry promised, while he guiltily shoved all the dragon-Draco puns he’d come up with away from the surface of his thoughts.
            Draco glared at him as if he thought otherwise, but he wasn’t that good at Legilimency. Harry innocently avoided his eyes under pretense of keeping a watch out on the trail they were traveling, anyway.
*
            It was more pleasant to float over stones than stumble over them. And Draco trusted Harry not to let him fall better this way, anyway.
            He leaned on Harry’s shoulder as Phelps excitedly babbled about the eggs in front of them. They were less special than Draco had thought they would be. They were brown, and there were small specks of green on them, but so what? A lot of the stones around them looked much the same.
            “The colors serve as camouflage!” Phelps said, looking highly offended, when Draco dared to question him about this.
            Draco snorted. “What sort of creatures out here would eat them?” He waved his hand at the nest, which was a huge shallow bowl lined with charred wood and singed stones. Then he waved his hand around, and took the opportunity to carefully look around, too. Phelps had assured them that this particular clutch of eggs had been abandoned and was being tended by Dragon-Keepers and not a mother dragon.
            On the other hand, he also seemed to think eggs needed camouflage and dragons nearly eating you was wonderful. Draco wasn’t sure that he wanted to trust the man, if only for that.
            “Camouflage from other dragons, for one thing.” Phelps’s voice was frigid, and Harry nudged Draco in the ribs again. Or he tried. Because Draco was floating off the ground, the shot went home to his groin instead. Phelps smiled in unholy satisfaction as Draco grunted and bent over. “Sometimes a female dragon tries to eat another one’s clutch. We reckon that it’s to preserve some space for her own offspring.”
            Harry was muttering apologies to Draco. Draco nodded briskly and disposed of them that way. He didn’t want to ruin their holiday or have a fight in front of Phelps. The fight could wait until they were safely in their room at the local inn again and no one could witness it.
            A sharp crack cut across the air, and Harry, who’d been about to ask a question, jumped.

“I thought Apparating in and out of this area was restricted?” he croaked, while Draco had a private mental celebration as to the taunts he would heap on Harry later for being scared.
            “It is.” Phelps spoke so reverently that Draco glanced back at him. He was crouched in front of the clutch, and tears were running down his face. He reached out and rested a hand on one of the eggs, then turned to them with his hazel eyes glinting almost the color of the shells. “You get to witness one of the rarest moments in a dragon’s life.”
            How can it be, when all of them have to go through it? Draco wanted to ask, but from the expression on Harry’s face, he was in absolute rapture at the thought of attending a dragon hatching. Draco sighed and resigned himself to watching. He was grateful for the small amount of space Harry’s spell kept between him and the ground, though.
            The shell cracked faster and harder than Draco had expected, especially given that the first crack had already sounded. Suddenly there was a wriggling dragonet at his feet, or was it called a hatchling? Draco had no idea, and he froze, staring at it.
            The tiny dragon lifted its head, turning it slowly back and forth. Its neck was long and spindly and looked as though Draco could have snapped it like a chicken bone. The dragonet gave a weak trumpeting noise and dug its claws into the earth. Phelps stooped over it and picked it up, hands slung under its belly.
            The hatchling produced a tiny jet of steam and smoke that singed Phelps’s fingernails. Draco jumped back, and he wasn’t holding the damn thing.
            But Phelps only laughed, and reached into a large pouch that he carried on the thick belt around his waist. “He does know his parents,” he murmured. “The ones who will really tend him and rear him, at least.”
            Draco opened his mouth to ask how Phelps knew the dragonet was male, but another crack sounded and stole his voice. This dragonet dropped straight onto the stones, squirming as though something was wrong with it. After a moment peering at it, Draco could see something was. There was a slick, clear caul on it, binding its wings. The other hatchling didn’t have one.
            “Phelps?” Harry’s voice was cautious.
            “Just a moment,” said Phelps, even as two other eggs hatched and one of the newest dragons stared at the one with the caul in a way Draco could only think of as hungry.
            He hesitated with his hand on his wand. They hadn’t been specifically warned not to use magic on the dragons, but then again, probably the Dragon-Keepers had thought no one would be stupid enough to try.
            But Draco had lots of experience with removing small bindings and inconvenient body membranes of this kind when he worked on the raw materials of dead animals that he would use to infuse his creations with lingering life. He was certain he could do it, and without harming the dragon, while the Dragon-Keepers might not know how to.
            Or maybe they’ll even kill the poor thing because it’s not fit to live, or something.
            Draco’s head was in a whirl as he watched another egg hatch on top of the one that was frantically fluttering its wings against the caul. The newest dragonet dug its claws down, and the trapped one shrieked piteously.
            That’s it.
            Draco’s wand flicked down before he could decide to take the motion back, and he murmured, “Diffindo presse!”
            Phelps looked up sharply at the spell, probably because he thought Draco was going to cut off dragon wings to take with him, or something. “What are you doing?” he snapped, flinging out a hand as though that would stop Draco.
            But Draco’s spell had flown true. The caul tore down the dragonet’s back, and as it slid off and flopped to the ground, his wings likewise flopped free. The dragonet promptly hissed steam in his sibling’s face, and the other one backed off as though it had never tried to eat anybody else in the clutch.
            “That was amazing,” Harry murmured, and leaned up to kiss Draco.
            Phelps was less pleased. “You could have cut his wings!” he hissed at Draco, though Draco noticed he was careful to keep his voice down, presumably so the dragonets wouldn’t get excited. He took more chunks out of his belt pouch and flung them on the stones. Draco was pleased to notice that his hatchling scrambled over with the rest of them to eat them. “A dragon without wings has no life at all.”
            “Well, he was about to not have a life at all, that’s true,” Draco snapped back. He raised his voice without thinking about it, and noticed some of the newest hatchlings, who hadn’t reached the food yet, turn and orient on him. Maybe they eat things that make lots of noise. Draco swallowed and tried to sound calm and dignified as he went on. “He was about to suffer from a paralyzing bite in the middle of his spine, or maybe just have his wings torn off. I saved his life. So there.”
            Phelps stared at him for a moment, then leaned over—sticking his face down in among all those young dragons in a way that made Draco shudder—and studied the mess of the caul on the ground. Then he sighed and straightened up with a shake of his head. “Fine,” he said. “And I’m even more impressed that you knew that hatchling was male when your exposure to dragons must have been minimal at best.”
            Draco wasn’t about to tell him that he had started referring to the dragonet as male in the heat of the moment. He only nodded his head and accepted the tribute.
            Harry’s warm smile meant more to him, anyway.
            “You’ll have to teach me that spell,” said Phelps, and looked hard at him. “Usually, when a hatchling is born with the wings bound like that, they’re not going to survive unless they’re the only one in the clutch and the Keeper has time to heat the binding and get it off that way. Their siblings eat them.”
            “Well, I’m glad to have made a contribution to the continued survival of the Common Welsh Green,” Draco said coolly, and ignored the way Harry glanced at him. Harry had already smiled; he couldn’t take it back now.
            And Draco was glad that he had saved that dragonet’s life, even if he couldn’t tell which one it was now in the sliding, scrambling mass of pale green bodies clustered around the meat Phelps had thrown. Because it had been small, and living, and had needed help.
            And because maybe it would convince Harry that he wasn’t simply hanging back because he didn’t like dragons. It was just—mornings of scrambling up and down boulder-strewn slopes wasn’t him.
*
            “Wasn’t that amazing?”
            Draco moaned something in answer from where he was stretched out on the bed.
            “Well, it was,” Harry said, chattering even as he watched Draco’s shoulders tenderly. Draco had discovered that he’d got sunburned when they got back to the inn. Harry had no idea how. The day had been mostly cloudy and he didn’t think Draco had opened his robes once. But it had still happened, and he was waiting now for Harry to rub soothing cream into his back.
            “I’m sure it was for you,” Draco muttered, and shifted restlessly. Harry went over to the bed and nudged it gently with his knee. Draco followed the direction and rolled a little to the left so Harry could get his hands under the side of his ribs. “But I didn’t like it nearly as much—eeee.”
            Harry bit his lip and decided that this wasn’t the best time to tell Draco that he reminded Harry of a baby dragon. “You didn’t enjoy it at all?”
            “Well,” said Draco, after a long moment when he seemed to want to think about it, while Harry rubbed cream up and down and in circles, “I suppose seeing the look on Phelps’s face when I saved that dragon’s life was fun.”
            “Just that part?” Harry shook his head and carefully touched the sunburn. Draco winced, but not enough to move away. Harry delicately brushed the healing salve on. “If I’d known that you would hate this holiday that much, I wouldn’t have brought you.”
            Draco rolled on his side again, despite the hiss of pain that made him expel from his lips. “I didn’t say that I hated it.”
            “You said it wasn’t fun,” Harry said quietly. He hoped he was keeping all traces of disappointment out of his eyes or voice, although he knew he felt it. “I want this to be fun. If it isn’t, I want to do something that you would find more fun.”
            Draco’s eyelids trembled. Harry looked at him carefully. He hoped that he hadn’t accidentally dripped salve into Draco’s eye.
            “To hear you say that...”
            “Yes,” Harry said quietly, and draped his hand over Draco’s hand. “I enjoyed looking at the dragons. And I loved the way you saved that one’s life. But I do think that we ought to go back and do something else if this is going to be wearying for you.” He found a smile. “I can’t guarantee there will be a dragonet with its wings bound to save at every sanctuary we visit, after all.”
            Draco said nothing for long enough that Harry actually took heart. If he’d been going to reject it right away, he would have by now. This indicated he was thinking about it, long and carefully.
            After a minute, Harry started smoothing the cream into the sunburned skin again, being careful to avoid the worst areas, as he waited for Draco to make a decision.
*
            Draco was trying to remember the last time someone had cared enough about him to offer him the power of a choice like that.
            Never?
            Oh, he had friends. His friends simply weren’t so close that they would put themselves to huge inconvenience or stop doing something they really liked for Draco’s sake. They would go out of their way to help him, but not like this.
            And while his mother loved him, Draco had always known that she considered herself to be a better decision-maker than he was. She would have swept him along on the holiday anyway, telling him and herself that it was for his own good and he was simply wrong if he told her that he wouldn’t enjoy it.
            Harry was different. Draco reached out, rubbed the salve that had got on his hand into the bedclothes, and then took the hand that Harry didn’t have covered with the potion.
            Harry went still and immediately looked at him, calm, intent. Draco nodded to him and cleared his throat.
            “I’m not a fan of stumbling on stones,” he said. “Or getting burned to death by dragons.”
            He saw Harry’s cheek jump as though Harry was burning to contradict him, but in the end, he held still and let Draco speak.
            “But the more I think about it, the more I think that this might be a good idea,” Draco said. “I don’t—it’s a long time since I just wanted to save a life like that, the way I did with that dragonet.” He was sure he would sound stupid and fumbling as he tried to explain, but Harry was watching him with an intent look, and that could only be a good thing.
            “I don’t save lives in my work. I can make them, and I think my animals are just as much living beings as the ones they look like.”
            Harry smiled. “I think so, too.”
            “But I don’t get to protect them often,” Draco continued doggedly. He wouldn’t have the courage to start again if he stopped. “I felt like you for a minute. A big, fierce Auror, ready to charge in there and rescue someone.”
            He basked in Harry’s smile, then added, “You can’t guarantee that there’s going to be someone to save at every sanctuary. I know that. But I want to try.”
            Harry lifted his hand to his mouth, and kissed it. Then he bent down and kissed Draco.
            Draco sighed and gave himself up to the kiss. They wouldn’t try to make love tonight, he thought, not with his back so burned, but the soft touches as Harry went back to stroking his shoulders and spine were worth more.
            And so was Harry’s continuing, understanding silence.
            Draco closed his eyes and rolled in the midst of it until he rolled into sleep.

*
Jan: Thank you! Although Draco might object to being described as ‘cute.’ ;)
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An Offering of Dragons