Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Here, There Be Drackens	By : DonalGraeme Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 14655 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling does. I in no way profit from this. All characters that aren't originally mine were either created by J.K. Rowling or StarLight_Massacre.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Lots of positive attention in such short amount of time! That’s encouraging. Well, let’s get this show on the road.

Remus and Harry had very different reactions to Kreacher’s declaration.
“Dracken?” the elder asked fearfully. He’d heard stories. Tales of families massacred when one of their own had revealed themselves as a bloodthirsty monster in a fit of temper. Drackens were the cuckoo bird boogiemen of the Wizarding World. They were so good at hiding, you never knew who could be one, or how much control they had over their temper. And now Harry was one! Remus felt a shiver of fear run down his spine. Then he shook his head and reminded himself that people said the exact same thing about werewolves and if his friends had believed that then where would he be? Harry needed his support and by God he’d get it.
“Submissive?!” Harry screeched. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I’m not some doormat! I’m not some weakling! Why don’t you say that to my face, Kreacher?!”
Kreacher seemed unfazed to have a snarling dragonoid in his face. “Kreacher is not meaning Master Harry any insult. Kreacher is just stating fact. If Master Harry were a Dominant Dracken, his wings would be bigger and his scales would not be white.”
Harry shook his head. “Dominant, Submissive, what is this, some kinky dragon sex creature?”
Harry had no way of knowing how close he actually was.
Kreacher shrugged, unconcerned. “They is also being known as Alpha Dracken and Beta Dracken. One is being aggressive and fathering the chicks, the other is being protective and mothering the chicks. And if Kreacher may be so bold, he be thinking Master Harry will be an excellent Mother.”
“Mother?! How is that even possible?! I’m a guy! You still haven’t told me what the hell a Dracken even is! How do you even know all this?” Harry’s wings flared with his agitation, almost decapitating Remus as they flexed. They did managed to take out the towel rack.
Remus let out a delicate cough. “Wizards can get pregnant too, Harry. Not all of them, but a fairly large percentage are capable of bearing children. It’s why homosexuality is so widely accepted in the Wizarding World, even among the most conservative Purebloods. Even if Draco Malfoy came out tomorrow, his parents wouldn’t care because he could still have a blood heir. I’m not sure how you don’t know this. I guess McGonagall doesn’t have time to do the Sex Ed classes now that she’s Deputy Headmistress now. But if you’re a Dracken, then a whole different set of rules apply.” He rubbed the back of his head. “I confess I won’t be much help here. All I know about Drackens comes from horror stories. I don’t know how much of it is fact and how much is propaganda or prejudice.”
Kreacher cleared his throat. “Drackens are an ancient, noble race. The House of Black has had Dracken blood for centuries. They be a lot like wizards, but can have scales and wings and claws when they need. They mate for life, have a heat cycle, are very hardy, and are guided heavily by their instincts. If Master wishes to know more, Kreacher can show him books in the library. And Kreacher knows about Drackens because Master Regulus was also a Submissive Dracken.”
Remus looked gobsmacked. “Really? Did Sirius know?”
Kreacher sneered, but it was maybe a bit smaller than it would have been a month ago. “No, nasty master did not know about Master Regulus. Nasty Sirius was too focused on his own friends to notice own brother. If he had, he never would have tried so hard to part Master Regulus from his beloved mate.”
Remus turned pale as a ghost. “M-mate? Snape’s a Dracken too? Wait, did you say mate?”
“Wait, what?” Harry asked, turning away from where he’d been unconsciously preening in the mirror. “Makes sense, I guess. If you squint, he looks like a bat. Turns out it was some other winged creature.”
Kreacher ignored his master’s comments to answer the houseguest’s question. Now that he was forbidden from discriminating based on blood or creature status, he had to fall back on pure etiquette. And Kreacher was determined to be the best elf he could be on that point.
“Master Regulus was lucky. Submissive Drackens cannot be with non-Drackens. To lay with any but a Dominant Dracken would leave him barren and unable to have chicks. How happy he was to discover that the boy he’d loved for a year was a Dracken when he gained his inheritance! They were mated in secret and so, so happy. Even with nasty Sirius trying to ruin it, saying Master Severus was using love potion or was just using Master Regulus to get back at nasty master and his friends for all the cruel pranks they pulled. Then they became with child and Master Regulus seemed to glow. Mistress and old Master were so proud, they told everyone they could.” Then Kreacher snarled. “And then nasty master’s friend caused the miscarriage. And nasty master wondered why Master Severus hated him so.”
“Can you explain what he’s talking about? Because I’m sure I’m misunderstanding him. Moony? Please tell me I’m misunderstanding him.” Harry looked up at Remus with teary eyes.
Lupin gulped. “Sirius was always distant with his brother. But he did love him, in his way. That’s why it drove him mad when Regulus started to date Severus Snape in fifth year. It was mostly innocent and we teased him for his whining, but then Regulus turned sixteen and everything changed. Suddenly you never found Regulus out of Snape’s sight. He was always plastered to his side, more often than not snogging him senseless. It became a running joke of how often they were caught in broom closets. Sirius went mental. He was sure that foul play was involved, that there was no way ‘Snivellus’ actually cared about his baby brother. I tried to stay out of, but your father joined in. I don’t know if he actually believed it too or if he was just trying to be a good friend. The prank war between them and Snape went to another level. And then Regulus got pregnant and Sirius just went ballistic. That’s when he sent Snape down the Whomping Willow after me. Regulus tore him a new asshole for that, telling him that his niece would never see him.”
Remus gathered himself. “Harry, I need to you to understand something, first and foremost. That miscarriage was an accident. You have to know that. Sirius and James were young, reckless, thoughtlessly cruel at times, but they weren’t the kind of people that would take an innocent life like that. It was dark. Regulus was up late walking. James was on patrol when he got a report that Lily was in the hospital wing. He just took off. When he saw some slow figure in his way, he just shoved them to the side. He had no idea who they were or what he’d done. And he didn’t know until Regulus was brought into the Hospital Bed across from Lily and started screaming that James was a murderer.”
Harry covered his mouth in horror. “Oh my god. Oh my god. That poor baby. Poor Regulus. And Snape…” Harry hung his head. “No wonder he always hated me. I’d hate me too. I could never forgive anyone that took away my baby.”
Remus cautiously hugged the boy. “Harry, it wasn’t your fault. You weren’t even born. You aren’t accountable for the sins of your father.”
“My dad killed his child, Moony. Accident or not, at the end of the day, my dad’s the reason Snape doesn’t have a little girl. And then he went and had me. Having to see me every day at Hogwarts, in the Great Hall, heck in the Common Room if I’d been sorted in Slytherin… can you imagine what a slap in the face that must be? I’m surprised he restrained himself to name-calling and point-taking. He could have given me weekly Crucio sessions under the guise of detention.”
Remus stiffened. He didn’t like just how cavalier Harry was being about his possible torture. “Right. I think that’s enough for now. You shouldn’t process all this on an empty stomach. Let’s get down to the kitchen and have your birthday breakfast.”
Harry chuckled and quickly swiped at his eyes. He bent to pick up his t-shirt before he realized a slight logistical issue. “Um, Kreacher. Did Regulus tell you the secret to making the wings… go away?”
The beauty of house elves is that they are physically incapable of mocking their masters, and thus are possessed of infinite patience, no matter how stumbling the request. “To make your Dracken features disappear, Master Harry, simply wish them hidden.”
Harry shrugged. “Think happy thoughts. Sure thing, Tinkerbell,” he muttered. Scrunching his eyes, he focused all his mental energies on an image of the Harry Potter he’d seen in the mirror yesterday. No scales, no wings, no perfectly symmetrical face, normal unmanageable hair, ordinary half-chewed nails, nothing out of the ordinary. There was a full body squirming sensation, as bits and bobs he didn’t know he had shifted to make room for all the new things. But when he opened his eyes, he looked normal. The only thing he kept was the 40/40 vision. Like hell he was going back to being legally blind.
Harry took a moment to glance at his shirtless self in the mirror. No break between three squares at Hogwarts and Kreacher becoming his personal chef meant that, unlike this time last year, he couldn’t count each of his ribs. He was far from strapping, but he didn’t look so much like a stick anymore. He’d like to be a bit taller, but based on everything he’d read on inheritances (which wasn’t much, but that was sure to change) the change usually pushed you to your final height.
Still, if he didn’t read anything to the contrary, maybe he’d shell out for that nutrient potion course he’d seen. It was basically just a magical multivitamin, what was the harm? Might help to finally put some meat on his bones.
Harry went downstairs and tried to eat his bacon as if nothing particularly special had happened. Remus picked up on it and tried to make chit-chat over the nonsense in the Prophet. Harry was just glad the entire front page wasn’t some kind of thank-you message or birthday greeting. He was rattled enough to give Hedwig a full hug instead of her usual scratch when she brought the morning mail, but she declined to comment. She just gave an extra gentle nip before ‘stealing’ the last piece of bacon he’d left untouched and making for the attic.
Harry felt his heart warm as he opened card after card, extracting the shrunk presents from within. He didn’t want to think about how many had been returned to sender since the owls couldn’t find him, but it was nice to know he still had friends. Mrs. Weasley’s gift was a basket filled with enough desserts for him to do his own bake sale. Fred and George had sent a deluxe sampler pack from W3 (Business is booming, partner! – Gred and Forge). Mr. Weasley had gotten him a copy of Beedle the Bard, a collection of wizarding children stories. Considering the man’s fascination with things that Harry considered common sense, it seemed appropriate. Ginny’s card had simply read ‘Enjoy’ and been taped to a box. He’d lifted up the lid, only to immediately slam it shut. Remus looked up and Harry made a supreme effort to not blush. He moved it to the ‘seen’ pile and moved on, mentally preparing the ritual bonfire to destroy the nightmarish gift.
Where did Ginny even get those kind of toys?
Luna sent him this month’s Quibbler, including a complimentary pair of Spectrespecs which ‘allow you to see creatures which otherwise avoid the Visible Plane’. For fun, Harry threw them on, and was shocked to suddenly see what looked like a cloud of yellow gnats appear around Remus’s head. He lifted the cardboard frames, and despite the most intense staring with his new eyes, couldn’t see any hint of their presence. But he dropped the red and blue lenses back over his eyes and there they were. He flipped through the Quibbler to the Bestiary section and found them. ‘Wrackspurts: Invisible creatures which float into a person’s ears and make their brain go fuzzy. Recent findings suggest an infection may be dispelled by the subject thinking positive thoughts.’
“Uh, Moony?”
Remus shook his head. “Yes, Harry. Sorry, I don’t seem to be all here this morning.”
“Can you cast a Patronus right now?”
The werewolf’s brow furrowed. “Why?”
“Um, because I’ve never seen yours? And I want to see the Patronus of the man who taught me how to cast one!”
Remus smiled warmly. “Well, who am I to deny the birthday boy?” With a flick of his wand and a muttered “Expecto patronum,” a silvery wolf was suddenly bounding around the breakfast table. Kreacher gave it a look of disdain before he seemed to realize that a cloud of mist was unlikely to make a mess in his kitchen, and went back to supervising the dishes washing themselves.
Harry watched as the cloud around his uncle’s head dissipated and the little things floated out the window, apparently in search of new victims.
He would never doubt or make fun of Luna ever again.
Harry managed to decipher Hagrid’s scrawl, which had him grinning at thoughts of the gentle giant. He’d use the rock cakes as paperweights. He was less pleased to see Dumbledore’s spidery calligraphy. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the old Headmaster. Pomfrey had explained how she literally couldn’t tell him about her suspicions. And the old man had admitted (in a letter, not to his face, so he lost points for that) that he never got around to reading the reports from Arabella Figg. As Harry had pointed out, until recently, Dumbledore had a bit too much on his plate. It was exhausting to hold a grudge. It was tempting to let bygones be bygones. But Harry didn’t want to just let things go. He couldn’t. If he didn’t stand up for himself at some point, who would?
He got no gift from Daphne, but he did receive what could only be called a missive wishing him well. He could only shake his head at the rigidity and ceremony of Purebloods. No wonder they were all barking.
The last letter in the pile was of thick parchment and just looking at it intimidated Harry. Hesitantly, he opened it and read the first few lines to get the gist. “Gringotts sent me a letter.”
Remus looked up. “Hmm. Well, as you’re emancipated now, I guess you have access to the Potter Family accounts, not just your trust vault. It’s customary for heirs to set up a meeting with their family accountants. Today we can deal with your inheritance, but you should go by Friday at the latest. Best not to keep the goblins waiting.”
Harry cocked his head. “Trust vault? Family accounts? What are you talking about?”
Remus took a deep breath and counted to ten. He had to phrase this carefully. He noticed that Harry had a habit of taking the blame for things. He didn’t want his young charge to feel like a fool. “Harry, did no one explain to you that you had more than just Vault 687 to your name?”
Harry shook his head ‘no’.
Remus assumed his ‘teacher’ voice. “That isn’t all the money you have in the world, Harry. It’s a relatively small amount James set aside for you at your birth to pay for your school expenses and to cover personal purchases. It was meant to act as a sort of lifetime pocket money until you became 17 and became eligible to use the Potter Family funds, assuming you even used them and didn’t just get a job and use your own money like your Dad did. Your trust vault was the first time he dipped into the family coffers, and that’s because it’s a tradition going back generations.”
Harry felt like someone had just ripped the rug out from under his perception of the world. In a good way. “Family money? I have family money?”
Remus nodded. “The Potters are old money. Lots of luck with the markets. They don’t win every bet, but they seem to succeed at more ventures than they fail. I had a serious case of déjà vu for your grandfather when I heard you’d invested in Fred and George. He was a regular Midas, that Charlus. He’s the one that backed the Nimbus group when they were just a couple of Hogwarts grads going up against Cleensweep. Now Nimbus makes league-quality brooms and Cleensweep is a term for a cheap knock-off.”
“Charlus? My grandfather’s name was Charlus?” Harry asked, eyes bright as the brokenhearted child within showed through.
Remus felt something within him break. “No one ever told you about your grandparents?”
Harry shook his head. “Everyone only ever wants to talk about Mum and Dad. ‘You look just like your dad. But you have your mother’s eyes’. That’s all most people have to say about my family. I have no idea about any other relatives I might have. Let alone where this Dracken stuff came from. I’m guessing I didn’t just spontaneously become one. Though that sounds like something that would happen to me.”
“Master Harry James Potter, Submissive Dracken, is being the only son of James Charlus Potter, Pureblood Wizard, and Lily Potter nee Evans, Muggleborn Witch,” Kreacher spoke up, appearing almost in a trance. “James Charlus Potter is being the only son of Charlus Potter, Pureblood Wizard, and Dorea Black, Pureblood Witch. Dorea Black is being the second daughter and fourth child of Cygnus Black II, Dominant Dracken, and Violetta Bulstrode, Pureblood Witch.” Kreacher than shook his head and bowed low. “Kreacher is apologizing. Mistress Walburga stressed the importance of knowing the bloodlines, and Kreacher remembered his lessons too well for a moment. Kreacher be sorry if he made young Master uncomfortable.”
Harry waved his hand, eyes wide. “No, no! Thank you! You gave me more information in two minutes than I’ve gotten in two years! So, I got my Dracken blood from my great-grandfather? Why’d he marry a human? You’d think he’d want to be with another Dracken. Unless he really loved Violetta. Or could he not find another Dracken? Are there not many? Wait, am I part of an endangered species now? Oh dear God, I’m going to die alone, aren’t I?”
Kreacher headed off the freak out with a perfectly timed cup of honey tea. “Calm, Master Harry. Is true that Dominant Drackens would and shall always prefer to mate with a Submissive. Though they can and often will have families with humans, they shall always long for a Submissive to call their own. However, Cygnus Black II had no choice. His father, Phineas Nigellus Black, made a magically binding betrothal contract when he was born. He had no choice in marrying Violetta.”
“That’s horrible!” Harry cried. “I’d never do that to my children.” Harry paused. “Wait. Why didn’t you call Cygnus or Phineas Master?”
Kreacher shrugged. “Kreacher never met them, Master Harry. Phineas was dead before Kreacher was born and Kreacher never served Cygnus II. Though they were both proud patriarchs of Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, Kreacher need not respect them needlessly.”
Harry nodded then abruptly stood up. “Right. Thank you very much for the family history lesson, Kreacher, Remus. But I can only be distracted so long. I really just need to find out what the bloody hell I am now, since apparently it isn’t human anymore.”
“Of course, Harry. Take as much time as you need,” Remus said, using the voice he’d heard used towards him a million times. The voice used to soothe a spooked animal. “We’re here for you if you need anything.”
“Master will find all books on Drackens near his favorite chair,” Kreacher added.
Harry nodded and made a swift exit.
True to the elf’s word, Harry found a stack of five books next to his preferred reading chair. There was also yet another cup of honey tea, still steaming, a plate of ginger newts, and the footrest had returned to the perfect distance from where he’d kicked it away in his sleepy struggles escaping the comfy throne last night. Harry briefly wondered if it would be more like paradise or prison should Kreacher and Dobby ever meet. They’d probably try and brush his teeth for him.
Harry hefted more than he would like to admit to lift the first book. It was obscenely thick and unadorned. The title stated in simple block letters The Comprehensive Guide to Creatures, Beasts, and Beings by Mr. Tachs A. Durmist.
“This looks promising,” Harry muttered as he cracked it open and began his search.
Unfortunately, the book didn’t seem to be sorted alphabetically, but according to the author’s whim. As Harry skimmed, looking for headings that started with ‘D’, he noted that Mr. Durmist was extremely thorough in his analysis of each species. He included everything from gestation time and preferred foods to written descriptions of their behavior in the wild and their significance to the magical world. Harry was more disturbed to discover tips on how to capture the creature in question and which organs could be harvested for use. He sincerely hoped those came from extensive research and not personal experience.
Finally, after three different sneezing fits from displaced dust, Harry found what he was looking for.
He spent a full minute staring at the illuminated heading, feeling lightheaded as all his blood rushed to other regions. A tall, broad-shouldered man, muscled like a statue of a lost god of masculinity, stood tall and proud. Spread wide behind him were wings of ruby red, giving him the look of some angel of death and blood. Long, bulging arms stretched out to hold the shoulder and hip of a woman. Not just any woman. This was the archetype that every woman strived to become, spent hours starving or training or nitpicking in front of a mirror to imitate. Long, flowing locks that looked like a waterfall of silk; firm, whole breasts like two teardrops of the goddess of fertility; lithe limbs that teased you with the power to wrap around you and hold you forever in her grasp; hips that called out for a hand to cradle them and declared her childbearing prowess to the world. Her legs held her up even as she bent forward at the waist. Her own wings were white as a cloud, touched here and there with the same scarlet of her mate, curled in on herself as if to show her subservience. Her mouth, tempting even with four deadly fangs, was open with a silent scream as her sex was invaded by an unyielding conqueror.
Naturally, since it was a wizarding picture, it was moving.
Harry finally managed to tear his eyes away from the unexpected porn to read what he was actually there for.
THE DRACKEN
It would not greatly distort the truth to simply describe Drackens as humanoid dragons. They share many of the same characteristics: scales, the ability of flight via wings, vanity, possessiveness, resistance to magic and disease, an estral cycle, and general aggressiveness towards all but their mates and young. However, they also appear to retain all the intelligence of their human selves prior to their inheritance at the age of 16, except in bouts of ferity. Considering this and other irregularities, until further study suggests otherwise, we shall consider them their own distinct creature of no relation to Draconis Westernis or its various subspecies.
All Drackens are capable of hiding their natural features. The mechanism behind this is believed to be magical, as it appears subject to each Dracken’s individual willpower. Almost every documented case of a Dracken discovery involved the creature being in a state of high emotion prior to being revealed. Whether this is a native ability or bred in after generations of hiding from poachers and government condemnation requires further examination.
All Drackens can be classified into one of two groups: Dominant and Submissive.
Dominant Drackens are predominantly male, although female Dominants are not unheard of. The scales of a Dominant are usually distinctly coloured, and cover roughly half of his body. The claws are on average two inches in length and razor-sharp. The average wingspan of a Dominant is estimated at twenty-five feet. Wing length and colour is believed to be an important factor in attracting a Submissive as a mate.
The role of Dominant seems to be that of hunter, enforcer of discipline, and shield. Their large size and formidable strength allows them to ward off other Dominants and predators, as well as provide fresh meat for their mate and chicks. They cannot afford to reveal any weakness, as this could lead others to challenge them and thus compromise the safety of their Submissive and offspring. This often gives Dominants a distant, if not outright hostile demeanor. Dominants are known to punish their Submissive for what they see as bad behavior, in order to ensure they be the best possible mate and mother to their young. Each Dominant seems to have their own individual style of punishment, born of instinct. Known methods include spanking, pinching, hair-pulling, and joint-locks. In situations where a Dominant must choose between their own survival and protecting their Submissive and/or children, they always choose the latter. The Dominant’s sole purpose in life appears to be to secure a mate, produce children (known as ‘chicks’), and ensure the survival of both. This has been confirmed by interviews with actual Dominant Drackens under Veritaserum (see Appendix C)
Submissive Drackens are the natural counterpart to the Dominant Dracken. Most are female, although male Submissives are more common than female Dominants. Submissive Dracken scales are white at the time of inheritance, covering over three-quarters of her body. However, over time, they will change color to reflect those of her mate or mates. Her claws are only an inch in length, but are actually more deadly than those of her Dominant. Under duress, her nailbeds will secrete a toxin to coat her claws, often with fatal results. Each Submissive’s toxin is unique; some have an acid that can eat through a man in under a minute, others a neurotoxin so deadly that a single drop can prove lethal. The largest recorded Submissive wingspan was fourteen feet, but this should be considered an outlier.
As the greatest urge of the Dracken seems to be to procreate, it should come as no surprise that Submissive Drackens spend most of their time pregnant or taking care of their chicks. Curiously, each Submissive Dracken is born with a magical blockage covering her uterus or his sac, so this takes more effort than most species require. Submissive Drackens often require multiple Dominants as mates to function. One or two to absorb the magic behind the blockage in order to become pregnant, and another to ground the Submissive’s natural magic. Submissives that fail to gain a ‘grounding’ mate often go insane within a few years of their inheritance, killing their own young and/or their mates, before coming to their senses and usually committing suicide. It is rare that a Dominant is strong enough or a Submissive weak enough that only one Dominant mate is required.
Submissives are closely treasured by their Dominants. Some Dominants are so jealous that they will not allow their Submissives to leave their dwelling or others to see them. Submissives spend all their time caring for the chicks and seeing to the needs of her Dominant(s). It is considered proper behavior for the Dominant in turn to see to the needs of his Submissive, but cases of abusive Dominants have been discovered.
Submissives become pregnant while on heat. The length of the heat cycle is unique to each Submissive, and is divided into four parts. The first three parts are primarily dietary, starting with a focus on meats, shifting to grains and then to fruits and vegetables. It is believed the meat is for protein to build up the uterus/sac for potential chicks, the grains for staying power during the actual mating, and the fruits for energy and nutrients. The heat culminates in a 10-day period of almost constant sex. During this time, the Submissive’s core temperature will raise to 110 degrees Fahrenheit to facilitate conception, another similarity with dragons. She will also release pheromones to ensure her Dominant(s) is in a constant state of arousal, again maximizing the chances of conception.
The full length of a Dracken pregnancy is seven months. Throughout the pregnancy, the Submissive will feed on the Dominant(s) blood, saliva, sweat, and semen to support the growing chicks, generally obtained during intercourse. Common symptoms of pregnancy are tiredness, irritability, nausea, dizziness, food cravings, and magical outbursts. At some point during this time, the Submissive will get nesting urges. She will look for the place to give birth to her chick(s), generally somewhere high up, with a good view of the surroundings and safe from perceived predators. Once a location is decided upon, she will gather items to cushion the area, usually marked with her Dominant(s)’s scent. She will keep her nest a secret while building it, considering it at risk until it is complete. Only when it is finished will she reveal it to her Dominant(s) and family. Sometime between the completion of the nest and the due date, she will turn feral and retreat to the nest. She will spend her time preening, preparing for the birth, and become unable to recognize even her own mates. Difficulties feeding nesting Submissives are often reported. The birth for a female Submissive will proceed much as it would for a human. For a male Submissive, he must essentially give himself a caesarean. He will use his claws to tear through his sac, extract his chick(s) and their placenta(s), and then close the wound. This is commonly achieved by drinking a pre-prepared bottle of his Dominant(s) blood. Dracken blood has mild healing properties, which are amplified by the mating bond. While the first pregnancy for a Submissive is always a singleton, average Dracken pregnancies are two to three children. The most chicks a female ever carried to term was seven and a male five.
Every species seems to feel the need for the mate, but the Drackens appear to feel it more so than anyone. Dominant Drackens compete aggressively amongst each other for the attention of Submissives. In the past, this was a literal competition. In recent years, however, this takes the form of courtship meetings where Dominants gather when a Submissive announces her inheritance and chooses whom among them she will take as her mates. Dominants are always searching for a Submissive. The longer they go without one, the more desperate they become. This desperation can yield to madness given enough time. Unmated Dominants over the age of sixty often have to be put down by their families. There is only one documented case of an unmated Submissive, since Dominants fight so strongly for them and Submissives long so strongly for children. The circumstances were unusual, in that the Submissive’s Dominant uncle locked her in the attic, deciding that he would have her once his own mate died. As his mate of the time was of perfect health, the mental health of the uncle should be called into question. It is undetermined whether it was due to her unmated status or own suicide attempt, but within eight months the entire house went up in a massive explosion, as the Submissive’s magical core collapsed in on itself.
Whenever the Submissive feels they are in danger, she will let out a distress call. To human ears, this resembles a loud screech. Any Dominant Dracken that hears a distress call will come running, but the mate(s) of the Submissive in question will tear through walls if necessary. They will most likely be partially feral when they arrive, so anyone in the proximity of the Submissive should take caution, for they will be assumed to be the threat until the Submissive corrects them, which may happen too late. Even if the Submissive is out of earshot of her Dominant(s), they will still feel the vibration of it in their skull. A Dominant will not rest until he finds his Submissive, even if he must fly halfway across the world to do so.
Drackens as a whole can be considered nonviolent, except when they or their families are threatened. It should be noted that internal disputes are often dealt with via execution. However, due to their volatile instincts and the violent nature of the episodes when they do lose control, they have been classified as Dark creatures by the American, British, European, and Asian governments since the 1840’s. Notable exceptions include South Africa and Australia, which have thriving Dracken communities.
The Dracken community, forced into hiding and more and more made to integrate into general society in secret, has tried to abandon many of their natural instincts. Veritaserum interviews indicate a form of pseudo-government, the Dracken Counsel. All inquiries, however, are met with silence or, upon further pressure, magically-induced seizures. Use of vows of secrecy are suspected
Drackens are only identifiable as such within an hour of birth, or when they have their features on show. They age at the same rate as humans, though have a tendency to hit developmental milestones sooner. Like most bipedal creatures capable of interbreeding with humanity, they come into an inheritance on their sixteenth birthday. From that day forward, they appear to age at half the rate of humans. An active 80-year old Dracken displays the same fitness and physical appearance of a 40-year old wizard, even accounting for the Dracken’s greater strength and hardiness. Maturity levels appear to fluctuate with the same uncertainty as human adults. Average lifespan with good diet and exercise is 300 years, with no discernable difference between Dominants and Submissives.
Drackens are never more vulnerable than when they are on heat. The power of the Submissive’s pheromones and the instinct to conceive are such that a war could be going on around them and they would not notice. As their scales block all but the most extreme spells and their claws can tear through most ropes, the best way to capture one is to use either the Suffocation Curse (also known as the Reverse Bubblehead Charm) or use of the Sleeping Draught, either orally or in gaseous form. Containment should use either titanium, top-quality steel reinforced with wards, or Goblin-wrought silver. An extreme example of ensuring no chance of escape includes use of an iron maiden made to the exact specifications of a Dracken kidnapped at the age of 4, charmed to grow with the child, fed and watered via a tube.
Dracken scales are some of the most sought after ingredients in the potions world. Body scales are packed too tightly to extract neatly and are too small to use to be considered worth the effort, so wing scales are the most preferred. There is no known process to make a Dracken corpse reveal its features, so scales must usually be harvested from a live source. As most Drackens are captured as children, most poachers unwilling to risk the wrath of a full-grown Dracken, and as a Dracken’s wings are never more sensitive than in the first year of his or her life, this is often a violent process. Ethical apothecaries will first euthanize the Dracken, but some claim this causes the scales to lose luster and thus potency, and thus insist the scales be ‘fresh’. The extraction process is achieved by first staking down the Dracken’s wings through the wing joints, to prevent their retraction. Then the harvester shall place a chisel into the edge of a wing scale, before applying a surge of force to lift it from its bed. Due to the large amount of blood vessels in the wings, there is a large chance of exsanguination before each scale is removed. Some will force the Dracken to drink Blood Replenishers through the screams, while others are content to let some scales go dull in order to stop the ringing in their ears, assuming they did not use a Silencing Spell. At the time of writing, a single Dracken scale sold for sixteen Galleons. However, there is some debate whether different colors affect different potions differently, due to the chemicals that make up the pigments, so prices may vary.
Poaching has always kept the Dracken population lower than it could have been. Since being classified as illegal creatures in most of the world, more and more Drackens have taken to mating with humans in order to blend in, diluting the bloodline and making it less and less likely that new Drackens will be born each new generation. Note: while Dominant Drackens can mate with humans with no ill-effects, a Submissive cannot. Any sexual contact with anyone but a Dominant, willing or otherwise, will cause the uterus/sac to self-destruct and render the Submissive barren. The rarity of Drackens, ironically, increased the demand for them on the black market, creating a vicious cycle. As of 1978, there are an estimated 2000 Drackens globally, with a Dominant-Submissive ratio of 18-1, and an average age of 46.
Trivia:
Drackens are allergic to salt water. Prolonged exposure can have serious side-effects, including constriction of the throat and tongue, and swelling of the optic nerve

Drackens cannot tolerate extreme cold. A drop of core temperature below 94 degrees Fahrenheit will induce a state of shock that can be life-threatening. Perhaps this is why Dracken scales conduct heat across the body.

It is unknown how a female Dominant and female Submissive conceive, or if it is indeed possible.

No matter how many chicks a Dominant and Submissive have, there is no guarantee that any one of them will be a Dracken.
Harry had read the whole thing with a mixture of fascination and horror, leaning more and more towards the latter the further he got. When he read what they did to that poor 4-year old, he was almost sick on the book. Who? Who could do such a thing and sleep at night? So what if you didn’t even see them as human? Harry couldn’t even think of hurting an Acromantula. Sure, they were big and hairy and probably wanted to eat him, but they were alive just like him! The only possible exceptions he’d make were for cockroaches and Blast-Ended Skrewts, and those could just be thrown in a dark hole somewhere and keep to themselves.
Harry shook his head. ‘That’s what makes you a good person, Harry. No matter how bad things get, you can always say you wouldn’t torture someone to death for a handful of gold.’
It was a sad commentary in and of itself that that thought cheered the boy up.
Harry shut the book and tried to settle everything he just read in his head. He didn’t think he had to read the other books, that had been damn informative, but he would just to make sure. He just had to make his peace with what Mother Nature had decreed to be his purpose in life.
“I’m a Submissive Dracken,” Harry said, tasting the words. “I’ll need to find at least two Dominant mates, lest I go insane or explode. I’ll have children with those mates, who may or may not be Drackens too. My Dominants will be as good as my Husbands or Wives. They may or may not be violent, possessive, jealous, controlling, domineering, and/or think of me like a 50’s housewife, but will most definitely wear me ragged for ten days straight every yet-to-be-determined interval.”
Harry slammed his head down on the book.
“There are times,” he growled to the empty room. “Quite often, actually. When I just hate my life.”

Harry read through lunch, brought to him by a placid Kreacher. Most of the books seemed to just parrot back bits and pieces of the first book. Some went into a bit more detail on one bit or another, but so far it had in fact lived up to its title as ‘comprehensive’. The methods the author or his sources had employed to obtain said comprehensive info were less than sterling, but still. The last book was almost laughable. Harry recognized it as a book on creatures Hagrid had gotten him his last birthday. It portrayed all Dominants as cold and vicious without going into the reasons behind why, and was chock full of tripe like “the most common time for a Dracken to become pregnant is in the winter.” Each cycle was different! If there was any ‘common’ time, it was sheer coincidence. And if what Harry had read in book four about artificial heats was true, than it was really the summertime. It was a load of tripe. When Harry checked the copyright page and saw it was published directly by the Ministry, he understood.
Harry felt that was enough for one day and retreated to his room and spent the rest of the day writing thank-you letters for all the wonderful presents. He paid special attention to Luna’s. He was half-tempted to write to Mrs. Weasley and tell her what her daughter had access to, but decided he didn’t want to burn that bridge just yet. Hell, if he ended up chained to a bed by a bunch of pedantic arseholes, he might just need Ginny and her naughty bag of gifts. And if they turned out to be angels sent from heaven to tend to his every need, then he’d also need her to properly thank them for their service. So instead he wrote her a note telling her he appreciated the thought but if he ever wanted that kind of ‘stuff’ that he’d ask, she wasn’t to just hand it over out of the blue.
A small part of him wondered just where she’d found a dildo the exact shade as his eyes.
There was indeed a cake, if a small one, and a half-hearted chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’ from Remus and Kreacher. It was unclear who was more uncomfortable: the werewolf and elf for having to work together, or Harry for being the centre of attention. He took a second to think about his wish, before he gave a puff and watched as Kreacher began to cut, the magic of the candles extinguished.
“So? What did you wish for?” Remus asked.
“If I tell you, it won’t come true,” Harry protested.
Kreacher, who also wanted to know, got a wicked gleam. “Perhaps Master be telling Kreacher. Elves don’t count. And if he be saying it loud enough for werewolf to hear, that just be good hearing.”
“Don’t say that, Kreacher. Of course you count!” Harry frowned.
“You know, Harry, if you just tell us, we might be able to help make it happen,” Remus wheedled, trying another tack.
Harry sighed. “It’s not the kind of thing anyone can help with. It’s up to the Fates. And if the past is any indication, they’ve really got it in for me, so maybe I just wasted a wish.”
Kreacher banged his hand on the table. “Master Harry will stop speaking ill of himself. Master has done a great thing in defeating the Dark Lord. More importantly, Master Harry is a good man. The gods should be making up for lost time in regards to the young master post-haste in Kreacher’s opinion.”
Remus nodded. “Well said, Kreacher.” The worn-out man reached out a hand to cover that of the boy he’d known when he was a baby he’d bounced on his knee. “Harry, please just tell us. I want to help you. Kreacher wants to help you. You’re not in this alone, you know.”
Harry gulped. Unbidden, tears ran down his cheeks. How had things gotten here? This was turning into a really crappy birthday.
“I wished that I would have a good family,” he whispered. “I wished that I’d find kind people to be my mates. I wished that we’d have healthy children. I wished that I could finally be happy. Is that what you wanted to hear? I made a sappy, wishy-washy, pathetic wish like that.”
Remus got up, pulled Harry into his arms, and cradled him to the ground. He rocked him back and forth, shushing him as the tears started to really pour out, offering comfort and warmth as Harry let out all the emotions he’d bottled up over the course of the day. The fear of discovering he wasn’t human, the wonder of his new form, the stress of not knowing, the horror at learning, the overwhelming joy at his gifts, the bitter ache at those that hadn’t been there, the embarrassment, the dread, the anticipation, all of it came flowing out.
When there was nothing left, Harry lay there, feeling weak as a limp rag.
It was only then that Remus spoke up.
“I want those things too,” he said. “I think everyone does, even if they won’t admit it. Someone to call their own. To open up their soul to. To share every moment with, the good and bad, the sour and the sweet. To create a new life, something totally your own. To have something to love unconditionally, to cherish and care for and watch grow. I want it so bad it hurts.” Remus chuckled dryly. “My… condition makes that a bit difficult. But with you, Harry, you’re going to have people lining up to give it to you.”
“That’s almost as bad as your situation, though,” Harry managed. “All those people… how am I going to manage to connect with any of them? I’ll be picking strangers. With you, anyone that wants to be with you after they find out must really be the real thing. You have a built-in screening process. Me, I’ll be spending every second worrying I’ll make a mistake and end up chained to a bastard that succeeded at acting nice for five minutes.”
Remus stiffened. “Huh.”
Harry, sensing dirt, pulled back. “Wait. Is someone interested in you?”
The werewolf couldn’t manage to look Harry in the eye. “There… might be a young woman who has made her… interest in me known. I’ve turned her down because I don’t think she realizes the full scale of the consequences of being with me. But she hasn’t given up.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “Are you kidding me? You spend weeks lecturing me on not putting myself down and the whole time you’ve been blowing off someone because of your hairy little problem?”
Remus fiddled with his collar. “She’s also a great deal younger than me. I mean, she and you were at Hogwarts together, Harry!” ‘She was in her seventh year when you were a firstie, but it’s still technically true’ he thought.
“Is she legal?”
“Well, yes…”
“Then take it from someone who’s had more than enough experience dealing with adults who think they know what’s best for them,” Harry declared. “Do. Not. Decide. For. Her. Whoever she is, she’s capable of making her own decisions. If you’re going to deny her, at least do it because you don’t like her back, not because you think you’re doing her a favor.”
“I can’t believe I’m getting relationship advice from a sixteen year old,” Remus muttered.
Harry got a sly grin on his face. “Think of it this way, Moony. How do you think my mother will react in the afterlife when she finds out that I had kids before you did?”
Lupin’s face went as pale as the moon he so feared. “You know what? Maybe I’ll floo-call her and set up a date. I’m not getting any younger. It’s time I settled down.”
Harry laughed all the way to bed.
Harry spent most of the next day experimenting with switching between his forms. He didn’t feel like he had enough adult saved up in him to face Gringotts just yet, he’d do that tomorrow. So the day was spent in his room or wandering the house, having wings sprout out of his back or scales recede into his skin or fangs slide out of his gums. He needed to be sure that his Dracken wouldn’t just pop out in the middle of a crowd, and the best way to gain control of any ‘muscle’ was to exercise it.
If Harry was honest with himself, he regretted how few mirrors there were at 12 Grimmauld Place. He’d never been a vain person, but his Dracken had other ideas. It wasn’t so much that it was a separate personality, per se. It was more like Harry’s mind had been opened up, and parts of him that he’d never known he’d had were suddenly in play. Harry had once heard someone say that the human brain was divided into into the lizard brain, monkey brain, and the higher brain. The higher brain covered stuff like art, philosophy and other abstract, complex concepts. The monkey brain was basic social interaction, living day-to-day. And the lizard brain was pure survival: eating, breathing, reproduction. If that was true, then Harry would say his Dracken was nesting in the hollow between his lizard and monkey brain. It kept a running commentary at the back of his brain, murmuring that all they needed was a full belly, the freedom to fly, and a strong mate to give them chicks. And the way to get a mate was to look their best, and that shouldn’t be hard, they were stunning. Just imagine how much more beautiful they would look rounded with a clutch of chicks…
It was as that last thought ran through his head that Harry came to his senses and found himself cradling his flat stomach in the middle of a hallway. Feeling like there wasn’t enough air in the air he was breathing, he forced the Dracken back inside and ran through the house, following his nose until he slammed into the deceptively solid warmth of Remus.
“Harry? What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked, keeping his voice level, but his worry clear. Harry sobbed. Remus always knew how to handle him. Panicking with him would set him off, but acting blasé would make him feel worse. The perfect balance, every time. Was this what if felt like to have a parent, someone dependable, always there to comfort you? That thought made Harry feel worse. He thought he’d made his peace with his orphan baggage.
“Everything,” Harry bit out when he realized Remus was waiting for an answer. “I wanted to be normal, Moony. That’s all I wanted. Just for a little while. I wanted a break from the craziness. And now I’m some rare illegal magical creature, and won’t the Prophet just LOVE to get their hands on that little tidbit?! And I’m basically going to have to arrange my own marriage and start having kids right away because that’s what Submissives are supposed to do! And if I don’t find enough Dominants fast enough, oh, I’ll go round the bend and kill everyone I love, so isn’t THAT a lovely incentive?! I mean, I always wanted a family one day, but now it’s being forced on me, and I’m so sick and tired of having to do what’s expected of me! And I’m going to get pregnant! I’m a bloke, that’s just wrong, screw magic and creature anatomy! I mean, I’m bi, I don’t really mind taking it up the arse, but am I going to be treated like some wench, cooking and cleaning and wiping the sprogs’ faces and never having a moment to myself while the hubby’s off having a pint with his mates?” Harry would have gone on, but he started to hyperventilate and that made it hard to talk.
Remus, calm in face of crisis, maneuvered Harry so that his head was between his knees. He instructed Harry to breathe as deeply as he could. It took five minutes, but Harry finally stopped feeling in danger of fainting. When he smelled that the adrenaline had left his charge’s system, Remus decided to speak.
“I’m not going to lie to you, Harry. You have an ordeal ahead of you. Romance is terrifying at the best of times. And the way you have to do it, with a gun all but held to your head, it makes me want to bundle you up and just hide you away from your problems. But it doesn’t work that way. The world doesn’t adapt to our needs. We have to adapt to what the world asks of us.”
Remus took a deep breath. “Last night, you gave me some good advice. Now it’s my turn. You take it from someone that spent almost thirty years denying who he was. Don’t. Trust me, it doesn’t make things any easier. We are what we are. It’s far better to just accept that and move on than to fight it every step of the way. You can’t imagine how much happier I was when I just accepted the fact I was a werewolf.”
Harry pulled back and gave a very skeptical look. “This,” Harry gestured up and down, at the still-shabby robes even after Sirius’s gift and the face that was wrinkled at the tender age of 36, “is happy?”
Remus shrugged. “You should have seen me as a teenager. When I wasn’t sitting morosely in a corner under my own personal dark cloud, I was lashing out at anyone that got within arm’s reach, raging at the unfairness of the world. If it wasn’t for your Dad and Sirius, I probably would have ended up in Azkaban or committing suicide by the time I was 20.”
Harry felt like his heart had stopped. “Tell me you’re joking.” Harry couldn’t bear the thought that anyone else he loved knew the pain he himself did. That hollow emptiness that weighed on every thought, convincing you that it truly would be easier to just end it all.
The werewolf shrugged, trying to make light of the situation. “It’s all moot. The Marauders saved my life, and I’m happy to have known them. Except for Peter, may he rot in Azkaban.” Remus looked at Harry to make sure he didn’t take his comment too hard. He felt his hackles rise as he saw something familiar reflected in the eyes of the boy as good as his son, and he didn’t like it. “Harry…”
The Saviour quickly jumped to his feet. “Wow that was a good talk. I’m feeling much better. I think I’m going to check on Hedwig. Good night, Moony!” It was barely 7:00 p.m.
Remus watched Harry beat a hasty retreat with narrow eyes. It wasn’t possible. Was it? The boy had been through a great deal, fighting for his life each year since he’d been eleven. Remus could think of grown wizards that would crack under that kind of pressure, let alone a child dealing with schoolwork and the tumultuous changes of adolescence. And then there was the night they’d retrieved Harry from his relatives’ house after the Dementor attack. He’d cracked an awful lot of jokes about them being upset Harry wasn't in danger. And Tonks had mentioned that his room had been locked from the outside, in between her rants about the unnatural cleanliness…
Harry hoped Remus wouldn’t read too deeply into that little moment. Other than that single outburst in the Hospital Wing and the discussion of the aftermath, Harry had kept any hint of his ‘situation’ with the Dursley’s mum. He knew Ron and Fred and George might have some clue, but they’d been young and too high on the sense of adventure to really understand how unusual it was to keep a 12-year old locked in his room and all his stuff hidden away. When he hadn’t mentioned it again, it had probably faded from their minds. As far as Harry was concerned, it was all in the past, he'd survived, and he never had to see them again, so what was the point of crying over spilled milk? He just wanted to get on with his life, not waste time and energy dwelling on what had already happened.
Harry closed the door to the attic behind him, breathing in the scent of hippogriff that refused to be aired out. With the arrest of Lucius and the news that Draco would not be taking Care of Magical Creatures for an N.E.W.T., Dumbledore and Harry had agreed it safe to reunite Buckbeak and Hagrid after the death of Sirius. Renamed Witherwings, the eagle-horse had been moved out shortly after Harry had moved in, Hedwig taking his place as master of the attic.
Harry smiled as he went to brush those snowy feathers. She’d managed to carry the huge bundle of replies to Ottery St. Catchpole overnight, returning that morning. Mrs. Weasley would forward the letters, as she had over the past month. She assured him it was no trouble and it was easier and she didn’t want to exhaust poor Hedwig. Harry just hoped she wasn’t using Errol. Fred and George should be bringing in enough extra money that they could afford a new owl. Unless she and Mr. Weasley were too proud to accept money from their children. Maybe Harry would look into untraceable transfers during his meeting with his family accountant tomorrow.
Hedwig allowed him to groom her for a bit before nipping his fingers and flying off to another corner of the attic. Harry chuckled. That was Hedwig. She’d take love and affection, but she made it clear she was no kept lady. Everything was on her terms. He only hoped he could follow her example. Sure, he could run headlong into a duel with wand and head held high, cool as a cucumber. But it took him a month and catching her alone to have the courage to ask Cho to the Yule Ball. Harry was simply clueless when it came to relationships. That was part of why he was so afraid he’d mess up and mate a loser or monster; he had zero experience. And he couldn’t get any, unless he wanted to render himself sterile.
Harry carefully modulated his breathing as he felt the panic rise up as it had earlier. When he felt it sink down again, he repeated what Remus had told him to himself. “It’s better to accept it. Play the cards you’re dealt. No amount of whining or self-pity will change the fact you’re a Dracken.” Harry scoffed. “Good God, Potter, you offed Voldemort! Courting should be a walk in the park.”
Hedwig gave a soft “Hoot.” Which might have meant “Don’t talk to yourself, Provider-of-Bacon”. Or could have been “Shall I have mice or frogs tonight?” The world shall never know.
Deciding to strike while the iron was hot, Harry made his move. “Kreacher,” he called. As the elf popped next to him, he listed his needs, still feeling like he was being rude somehow. “May I have a pen, some parchment, a book to write on, and an envelope please?”
“Yes, Master Harry,” the elf confirmed, clicking his fingers and summoning the items. Harry still had no idea why elf summoning worked differently from wand summoning. ‘Accio’ pulled things through the air towards the caster, basically acting like a specifically-tuned magnet. Elves made things pop out of thin air the same way they themselves did. Had anyone tried to recreate that with a wand, or did they use fundamentally different mechanisms? Hermione would know. Harry tried to brush away the automatic gloom that thought brought. She’d made her choice.
Harry clicked his pen and went to work. One of the first things he’d done upon moving in was throw out all his quill pens and buy muggle stock. Honestly, the reason his essays were so poor half the time was because it took so long just to write legibly with the finicky feathers, so he had to rush it. Even though it had been years since he’d held one, a retractable stylus felt so much more at home in his hands.
‘To Whom It May Concern,’ he began.
‘I have recently come into a creature inheritance. Based on the word of a close family friend with experience with Drackens and all information I can glean from available creature texts, I believe that I am a Submissive Dracken. As I understand it, it is important for my own sanity and the dwindling population of this new species I find myself a part of that I find Dominant mates and start producing chicks as soon as possible. Naturally, at only sixteen years of age and having no prior warning to this, I am apprehensive to pursue this course of action. I also admit I have little to no idea how I would find a suitable mate or the exact process necessary to form a bond. For these reasons, I ask that I be contacted by some form of representative capable of explaining the details of my situation in full and guiding me through the process of acquiring my mates.
To guarantee that I am who I say I am and not some poacher hoping to draw you out with some elaborate hoax, enclosed is one of my scales. I hope that my request does not cause undue stress on your resources or distract from your priorities. While I hope you respond promptly, do not feel that you must drop everything. I hope this letter finds you well.’
---- HJP
Harry looked it over. He’d tried to cover his uncertainty with formality, falling back on every lesson he’d picked up from Greengrass. He’d been sure to give himself the lower hand, so that whoever got this would be more likely to actually help him. He’d also tried to keep it as vague as possible, in case it was intercepted. He didn’t mention where he was located, his initials weren’t that special, and every inheritance came at 16 so that was nothing. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best Harry could manage while he had his nerve.
Harry set the letter down and rolled up his sleeve. Seeing if his day had been productive at all, he tried to only call up only the scales on his left arm. To his surprise, he was successful. He could feel the rest all over his body strain to come out like an itch, but just his arm became sheathed in pale protection that glimmered even in the scant sunset light. Feeling like he was trying to look left and right at once, Harry also called for his right hand’s claws. His wings flexed beneath the skin, but again it worked. With extreme care, hoping he didn’t accidentally gore himself, Harry tried to fit the edge of his claw into the edge of a tiny scale.
It felt like trying to thread a needle, but Harry eventually felt his claw ‘catch’ on the invisible join. Applying just a bit more pressure, but not enough so he dug into the soft tissue of his arm, Harry curled back and dug the scale out of its setting. It was surprisingly painful, and Harry sucked on the bleeding wound once the scale was placed on the floor. When he pulled back, it was already scabbing.
“Huh. Well, if Dracken blood is healing, then logically my own has a bit of a kick, running through me all the time. Guess I’ll heal a bit faster than I used to.” Filing that away under “Freaky Dracken Stuff to Get Used to”, Harry tucked the scale into the letter as he folded it into the envelope. He walked over to Hedwig, looking her in the eye to get her attention.
“Hedwig, I need this to get to the Dracken Counsel. I don’t know who they are, where they are, or what protections are around them. This might be dangerous for you, girl. But it’s very important that it gets to them. They can help me with who I am now. Can you do this for me, girl? You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
Hedwig seemed offended at the very idea that she wouldn’t step up to the challenge. She flew over to his shoulder, her wings beating him about the head as she did so, and pointedly stuck out her leg. Harry hid a grin as he tied the letter. Worked every time.
Harry watched her fly off into the night, feeling as if some weight had fallen off his shoulders only to sink into his stomach. The missile was in the air. Nothing to do but wait.
If history has proven anything, it’s that Harry and waiting don’t mix well.

So, I had a little freak out when I got a note from the moderators that I needed permission to do a Dracken story. And then I tore my vocal chords screaming when StarLight herself emailed me personally to hash things out. But now everything’s settled, and the future for this fic looks bright.
The actual sex won’t come for a while, but certain teasers will start as soon as next chapter, and keep in mind that side characters will get turns in the spotlight as well. As always, you all can let me know what you think in reviews. Yes, I actually read them. Check back for updates, I plan to churn them out regularly!
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Here, There Be Drackens