Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Ar Sciatháin Sciobtha	By : SenNightShade Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 12190 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: We do not own Harry Potter, it belongs to JK Rowling, we also make no profits as well. But the Drayches and anything about them, belongs to myself and my partner.

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Ar Sciatháin Sciobtha

~On Swift Wings~

Chapter Two

Rúnda nach mó

~Secret No More~

Bernadette Maks smiled to herself as she curled up in the cage the Romanian Dragon Handlers had provided her for her larger form. The Vassal Drayche had been deeply undercover for the past ten years, with only her specific Handler and the Head of the entire Reserve being aware of her true origins. Her Majesty, Beta Queen Tanwen, had heard a rumor several years back that Wizards had something to do with the theft of the little Princeling, Prince Fidencio. Wanting to find a way to redeem herself after having failed in protecting that Prince, the youngest daughter of the Maks Clan Head, Bernadette had immediately volunteered. She had even gone so far as to lay a brood of eggs twice now, a feat which was only possible while holding her draconic form.

Now, in what would be the fourteenth year of the Lost Prince's life, she had finally succeeded in gaining entrance to a main Wizard institution, though it was not as her true self and rather as a Hungarian Horntail; to be used as an obstacle in some bastardized Tournament, but she had still been willing to call it a success.

And now it was more than a mere success. It was a victory.

When she'd been placed in that damned, boxed in area, chained like a common dog, she was glad for her more baser instincts being near the surface whenever she was in the Horntail's form, because if she hadn't been able to hide herself under layers of draconic reflexes and instincts and the feral thoughts provided, she just knew she would have blown cover and done something that would have forced her King to hand her over to the Wizards, as is the Law of the Treaty.

And then they'd sent in that child, the one who looked so small and thin and pale, but held hard eyes and a resolve that spoke of a full-grown man, ready to face his Fate, and give the bitch a piece of his mind. And buried deep beneath her form's natural primal instincts, the Vassal could readily admit that, in that moment, she admired the child.

And that admiration only grew as he succeeded in getting past her intense maternal instincts and, were it not for the malfunctioning of his Invisibility Spell, would have finished the challenge without having been burned, bruised, or bled at all! Still, she showed no sympathy as she snatched the little interloper out from amongst her brood and tossed him negligently at her feet, sensitive ears (though assaulted by the wretched noise of the crowd) heard clearly the snap of his leg breaking against the unforgiving stone. She pinned him beneath her strong hind-claw, and roared her victory, though her hidden, true self was saddened that she would have to kill the interesting, strong-willed child in order to keep her cover, because her Princeling was more important than some Wizard whelp.

So, imagine her surprise when she leaned down to give the little Wizard a quick, spectacularly flaming death out of respect and in apology, when she caught his scent; and was immediately assaulted by the smells of hazelnut, vanilla, mint, and that little whiff of cocoa that she remembered so well…

She had found her Princeling.

She had leaned in close to see him better look at him, pulling her hind-claw back quickly. She would have scowled at her Princeling's small form, too small by far to be healthy at all, and then her eyes had narrowed as she examined the magic hiding his natural form from her. It was Wizarding Blood Magic, barbaric and crude, and she held back a derisive snort, not wanting to blow any of her forms Sulpher-rich smoke into the little Prince's lungs. The Blood Magic would be easy enough for her to overpower, she was, after all, the Vassal of Beta Queen Tanwen of the Onllwyn Clan, and she would not fail her Queen again.

A gentle breath that held a little over a quarter of her inner core had her Princeling returning to his handsome true form, though he was still a bit too short and thin for her to feel comfortable…

She had set his goal, the golden egg, beside his small form gently, and allowed him to be carried off by the Handlers, knowing that he would need some time to assimilate to his true form after so long, and that he would need to see for himself that the Wizards would not give him the truth. She had no doubt that he would seek out either the Handlers, or even herself personally, to get his answers.

And now, she would just have to wait, curling within her large, roomy cage, giving a low, pleased rumble as she thought of the expression her Queen would be wearing when Bernadette returned to the Fflamddwyn Palace with the Lost Prince.

(Page Break)

Albus Dumbledore was not a happy Wizard at the moment. He had had a bad feeling about the Tri-Wizard Tournament, especially after Harry's name had come out of the Cup. He had put it off, however, thinking it was only the fact that his plans were once again being skewed by what must be another attempt of the weakened Voldemort to murder the 'Boy-Who-Lived'.

He had to admit, putting a Magic-resistant Creature disguised as a human, between Voldemort and his goal of Immortality and sole domination of the British Isles, had been one of his most ingenious plans, if he did say so himself. Molding that child through negligent Muggles had been an even better one. Manipulating Molly Weasley and having her and her strictly Light-oriented family meet up with the lost, 'orphaned' child had been a marvelous stroke of genius.

And now all that hard work, all that planning and careful management, had spiraled down into the sewage pipes, because one stupid beast had to catch the idiotic brat's scent, and destroy all the spells keeping the boy looking like Harry Potter, and not whatever member of the Royal Breed of Drayches he truly was.

And, to make things worse, Madam Pomfrey had denied him or anyone else access to the Hospital Wing, going so far as to pull her wand on him and threaten to make his taste buds change, so that the thought of a lemon drop would make him want to vomit.

It was safe to say that he immediately took his leave of the irate Mediwitch.

Now, though, he paced in the atrium outside the Wing, mind working furiously, trying to come up with a plan of some sort… Suddenly, he paused. 'Perhaps that would work…' he thought, carefully prodding the idea that had just spewed forth from the back of his mind.'Yes… I think that will do quite well.' Beginning to feel the first tendrils of hope and relief coil about his mind, he smiled to himself and conjured a chair to sit in and concentrate on the details of the explanation he planned to give the boy when he awakened.

(Page Break)

Harry Potter woke slowly, breathing slowly, the smell of freshly cleaned linen, some unscented cleaning supply, and honey-milk filtering through his nose, much stronger then they'd ever been before. They were all scents he associated with Madam Pomfrey, and thus, the Hospital Wing, and he grimaced to himself, keeping his eyes closed. 'What did I do now?'he wondered, and slowly cracked his eyes open, expecting the unseemly blurriness he'd borne his entire life.

A starkly clear view of the ceiling greeted him instead, so fine he could count the bumps on the stone directly above his head, if he truly wanted to.

"What the bloody hell?" he asked, and flinched back slightly, startled at the sound of his voice, because he almost didn't recognize it at all. It was softer toned, a little higher in pitch, and held such a harmonious quality to it that it was almost a crime to keep quiet; which was a vastly difficult thought and impulse to manage, especially considering that he'd never held any such thoughts in his head before.

He wondered if something horrible had happened to his vocal cords, and they'd had to be replaced with something magical Madam Pomfrey had had on hand at the time, and he would now have to live with a Magical Creature's voice instead of his own. 'Let's face it,' he mentally said to himself wryly. 'That is something that would happen to me.' With a sigh that disturbed him with its pretty sound, he uncomfortable silenced himself and tried to remember how he'd gotten there.

'Fought with Ron over the Tournament, the prick. Um, walked along the edge of the Forest for a while. Went up against the Horntail, got caught, broke my leg (thank Merlin Madam Pomfrey has already healed that, wouldn't have been nice to wake up to at all), got hit with that wave of gold air-'

"Oh!" he gasped, and his hand jumped up to covered his mouth as the sound took on a musical tone. He grimaced. 'I sound like a bloody harp that talks, with a bit of violin or something mixed in,' he thought with a small scowl. It was then, as his hand moved to rub his face, that he caught sight of the changes. He stared, frozen, at his pale, long-fingered hand.

Most importantly, at the pale green skin that covered it, the nails sticking out past the tips by about a quarter of an inch, and pointed sharply, like claws. And then his sleeve fell back, and he stared at the spiral designs on his hand, that were a deep, emerald green, and looked strange. He discovered why they looked strange when he reached over with his other, equally changed hand, and touched the emerald designs hesitantly. The smooth bumps greeted him with soft clicks as his sharp nails dragged across them.

Scales.

He had scales.

And he was green, with a different voice, and had bloody fucking scales!

"What the bloody-"

"Mr. Potter!" Madam Pomfrey's scolding, disapproving voice cut through the rising panic, and had him sitting up sharply, turning his wild (unknowingly) acid green eyes on the middle-aged Witch.

"Madam Pomfrey?" he asked, beginning to shiver as he stared at her with enormous eyes, his musical new voice going high and gaining a bit of shrillness. The Mediwitch winced ever-so-slightly at the strident, painful sound, and bustled over to him swiftly.

"Calm yourself, Mr. Potter," she ordered sternly, "and I shall explain, understand?" Harry nodded and closed his eyes, hands curling into fists on either side of his thighs, cutting into the blanket they clutched, as he took slow, steady breaths, trying to calm. When he was sufficiently composed, he opened his eyes again and nodded hesitantly at her, wanting to understand what was going on, but feeling unbelievably different, and frightened, unsure if what he was about to be told would be… prudent, at the moment.

"Well, Mr. Potter," the aged Mediwitch began, flicking her wand and making a nearby chair slide over so that she could sit down across from him primly. "I have the dubious pleasure of informing you that you are not, in fact, the born son of Lily and James Potter." Harry stared at her, mouth open slightly, and an utterly dazed, bewildered look entering his bright eyes and sliding across his face. He opened his mouth and closed it again, a few times. After about a minute of this silent struggle, he swallowed thickly, his Gryffindor courage being pulled on firmly.

"W-what?" he finally whispered, his tone uncertain and sounding unbearably small; Madam Pomfrey gave him a soft, sadly sympathetic look, though her expression remained its stern self.

"I am afraid it's true, dear," she told him in an equally quiet voice. "The fact that you changed so drastically when met with the power of Dragon Magic, is just proof of it. Had you only been a Halfling, meaning one of your human parents was either Lily or James, then you would have only gained the scales, in far less quantity, and perhaps the voice and growth-spurt. Unfortunately, that is not the case, as you have noticed. That could only mean that you were either adopted by Lily and James after they found you, or," she hesitated, and took a deep breath. "Or someone has been testing the boundaries of the Treaty, and had you placed with the Potters. The fact that you tested as human under even my diagnostic spells, when I was once a Matron at St. Mungos Pediatric Ward, confirms that someone used extremely Dark Blood Magic to contort your very species. This leads me to assume that you must have been placed with the Potters for a very specific reason, as opposed to the much more pleasant option."

Harry began to tremble harshly, hyperventilating, before he dug his new claws deep into the bed, puncturing it with soft, little pop sounds. He closed his eyes and struggled to calm himself for several minutes, despairing inwardly and finally releasing a low, broken-sounding keen that was far from human. 'Not that I ever was,' he thought with dazed bitterness.

It took nearly ten minutes to regain control of himself, and to stop issuing those strange, hauntingly painful sounding keens. Madam Pomfrey had left him alone for a few minutes, only to return with a glass of water and a sad look in her eyes. He accepted the water, took two large gulps, before forcing himself to only sip it.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, until his water was gone, and then the Mediwitch took it and set it on the side table, where, he noticed with a flare a vicious resentment, the golden egg sat next to his wand and the horribly damaged remains of his glasses. He hissed softly, glaring at the metal structure that was the cause of this mess-

'No,' he mentally corrected himself, eyes narrowing further. 'Someone is the cause of all this, and it happened well before I was entered in this bloody Tournament. And when I find out who has been dragging my life about like it's a bloody toy, I will burn them.' He pulled himself abruptly away from the violent image of some faceless person screaming as he smothered them in flames (which he somehow sent out his mouth!), he turned his sharp, calculating attention on the Mediwitch across from him.

"What am I, Madam Pomfrey?" he asked her warily, rubbing the scales wrapped around his right forearm with his left hand absently.

"You, Mr. Potter, are a Drayche," she said simply, quietly. "Drayches are better known as the humanoid, intelligent cousins of Dragons, their protectors and Rulers, as a matter of fact. There are eleven different kind of Drayche, and thirteen different Clans. The eleven Drayches are split into three categories: the Royals, who came first and are the most intelligent, the Vassals, who came second and are less intelligent, but more battle-inclined, and the Neutral, which is a single Clan, who have both the intelligence of the Royals and the battle-readiness of the Vassals. The Royal lines consist of six different species, and eight Clans. They are the ones who hold specific territories and can declare truces or feuds amongst themselves as they wish. The Vassal breeds, are four different species, and four Clans, and their purpose is to serve the top four, oldest species of Royal Drayches. The single Neutral Clan is the species mediator, and are willing to aid any Drayche that comes to them, if the price is right, of course. They're sort of like mercenaries, in a way. Do you understand everything thus far, dear?" she asked kindly, and Harry nodded slowly with a slightly lost look.

"It's a lot to take in," he murmured, and winced slightly at his voice again, before silently sighing and deciding he'd have to get used to the bloody thing. "Please continue Madam Pomfrey," he requested, and the Mediwitch nodded primly.

"Now, the Royal Clans," she said, voice falling into a lecturing tone that made the fourteen-year-old listening to her smile slightly. "The first and foremost is the Ruling Line, the Fflamddwyn Clan, and their lesser line, the Onllwyn Clan, who is simply a split group from the main line. These Clan's are both uniformly similar to the Dragon breed, the Common Welsh Green, and are prominent rulers of the United Kingdom's territories. The Fflamddwyn rule over all the Drayches, and the King's final word is just that, for everyone. The second Line in the Royal breeds are the Brandubh Clan, who come from the Hebridean Black Dragons. They lay claim to the rest of Scotland, and Iceland as well. The third Line is that of the Einar Clan, who come from the Swedish Short-Snout's, and reside over Sweden and most of Switzerland, surprisingly enough."

"The fourth Line also splits into two, like the Royal Line. The first and foremost Clan are the He-ping, while the second, lesser Clan are the Yun. They come from the Chinese Fireball, and hold a rather comfortable grip over China and most of Japan. The fifth Line are the Marquez Clan, from the Peruvian Vipertooth Dragons. They preside over Peru in South America only. And, the last of the Royal breed, are the Alohanani Clan, from the Antipodean Opaleye Dragons, the most beautiful Dragons in the world. They have control of New Zealand, and a handful of small islands ranging across the Pacific Ocean."

"That's a lot to take in," Harry murmured; Madam Pomfrey gave him a sympathetic nod. "So, I'm from the Common Welsh Green line?" he asked, lifting his hands to stare at them with a bit of wariness.

"Yes," she told him simply. "And I rather hope you're an Onllwyn, because if you're a Fflamddwyn then there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that you will be immediately seized, no matter your wishes. The Onllwyn's, at least, will give you a choice, probably in going with them or staying here, with one of their Vassals as a guard and guide." Harry reached up and gingerly rubbed his forehead, wearily trying to sort the information out. "Would you like the information on the Vassal and Neutral breeds, dear?" The Mediwitch asked; Harry grimaced.

"Er, not now, thank you, Madam Pomfrey," he told her. "How do you know all this, anyways?" She gave him a faint smile.

"I've healed and dealt with Halflings during my service at St. Mungos, Mr. Potter. And I met several Drayche parents that wished to reassure themselves that their little ones were safe. You tend to gather the strangest information when you deal with nervous parents." She looked amused, and Harry cracked a weak smile. Madam Pomfrey stood, smoothing out her skirts absently. "Now, Mr. Potter," she said, voice and expression once more stern and business-like. "I know you've just woken, and have gained a rather large amount of information, however, I believe that the Headmaster wishes to speak with you. The silly man has been pacing about outside the doors for a while now." She shook her head with a small, disapproving scowl, and moved towards the doors.

"Madam Pomfrey?" Harry asked suddenly, staring at his hands clasped together between his knees. "Does the Headmaster know what's happened to me? And that I'm… I'm a Drayche?" He asked hesitantly.

"Of course he does, Mr. Potter," the Mediwitch told him, blinking with a slash of suspicion-filled curiosity at her most frequent patient. "He has made the acquaintance of Drayches in his time as Headmaster, and even before that, when he was the Transfiguration Professor, years ago." She pursed her lips and eyed him as Harry simply nodded at the information, and then she turned and continued her way to the Hospital Wing doors, opening one and sticking her head out to call to the elderly Wizard. Dumbledore followed her back to Harry's bed, smiling benignly at the teen without a sign of discomfort at his new appearance at all.

"Hello Harry, my boy," he said, voice kind as Madam Pomfrey left them be. "You've gotten into another mess, I see," a hint of teasing laced with amusement, had Harry grinning up at him sheepishly, though he was gritting his teeth, the Headmaster's tone grating on something in his instincts that unnerved him dreadfully.

"Yes, sir," the fourteen-year-old replied in his new voice; Dumbledore's brows lifted slightly in surprise.

"I shouldn't be surprised, of course," the Headmaster continued, taking a ginger seat in the chair Madam Pomfrey had abandoned. "Trouble does seem to find you often, dear boy." Harry nodded and looked down at his hands again, twisting and fiddling with his fingers.

"Do you know what happened, sir?" Harry asked quietly, not looking up as he examined his claws. Dumbledore gave him another kind, grandfatherly smile; though his eyes held a cold, calculating gleam.

"Of course, my boy," he said calmly. "When you nearly beat the Horntail, managing to make it within the very center of her nest, she attacked; a rational thing for a mother Dragon to do. However, when she got close enough to catch your scent, I believe she smelled both your Magic and the serpentine quality to it that allows you to speak Parseltongue. This, of course, must have confused her and, in her confusion, she sought to make you more similar to your scent, using quite a dose of her Wilde Magic to do so. And so, your Magic, without any choice when overpowered as it was, forced you to transform into a shape that would be better able to deal with the sudden influx, and thus complied with the Dragon's wishes. Once she saw you changed, she lost interest, as you were now just a hybrid and not a threat to her or her clutch. Do you understand, my boy?" he asked gently, voice soft. Harry clenched his hands tightly, keeping his head bowed, acid-green eyes half-lidded as he held his temper back at the old man's lie.

"Yes sir," he said, beautiful new voice holding a grim note that made it soft and somber and vaguely chilling. "I understand perfectly."

"Wonderful, my boy!" Dumbledore said jovially. He stood and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, before pulling it away. "Now, you will be pleased to know that you are currently in third place, behind young Misters Krum and Diggory. You most probably would have gotten first, dear boy, but your grievous injury and circumstance; and the fact that the egg was only gained after you had already fallen unconscious, went against you. The next Task isn't for another few months, so you are safe until then. Rest well, my boy," he finished, and nodded to Harry before striding from the room.

Harry waited until the door closed before he lifted his head slowly, acid-green eyes blazing brightly, and a low, melodic growl curling from deep within his throat, gaining volume steadily, until he finally snarled and shoved himself to his feet, ignoring the light twinge in his left leg. Angrily, he began to pace furiously, reaching up and dragging his hand through his hair, noticing immediately the strange spikiness that it held, harder then hair should be, but still soft beneath his skin.

"Mr. Potter!" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed minutes later when she bustled towards him. "What do you think you're doing out of bed, young man?" Harry glowered but returned grudgingly to the bed, not wanting to upset her.

"He lied to me," he told her, voice hard, the notes in it sharp and flat at the same time, creating a discordant tune that had a wealth of intonation issues. "He lied to me to my face, Madam Pomfrey, and then informed me that I'll be continuing in this blasted Tournament." He lifted angry, lost eyes to meet the older woman's beseechingly. "What do I do, ma'am?" She huffed out an annoyed sigh and gave him a stern once-over.

"I suppose I could let you leave early this one time," she muttered, scowling at his startled expression. "Do not get used to it, Mr. Potter," she said sharply, eyes narrowing. "I am no push-over, and I expect you to stay in that bed a day longer then strictly necessary next time you find yourself in my Infirmary, understand, young man?" Harry nodded eagerly and leapt to his feet.

"I promise, Madam Pomfrey," he assured her, smiling, anger momentarily forgotten in place of the relief he always felt with the news that he could leave the Hospital Wing. "Thank you very much, ma'am!" Madam Pomfrey gave a soft scoff and made shooing motions with her hands, expression a mixture of exasperation and fondness.

Harry gave her a warm, pleased smile, and walked quickly out of the Wing, a barely noticeable limp to his steps. He was quickly on his way to the Gryffindor Dormitories, wondering how he would explain his changes to his friends… Well, Hermione and the Twins, at any rate.

Mood souring, he started up the stairs.

And that is the end of chapter 2, I hope everyone enjoyed it. Please read and review; and also, check out the Forum I have up! I have replies to reviews (and I'll be adding in a few more replies soon) and I also have a Glossary up of the Drayche clans!

http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/31933-review-replies-for-ar-sciathain-sciobtha/

4-28-2012

Ok, so I got a very distressing review, so I'm going to leave the Glossary at the end of every chapter now.

GLOSSARY

Royal Breeds:

Common Welsh Green: All have different shades of green for skin, hair, scales, and eyes. Voices are melodious and beautiful.

Members:

The Fflamddwyn Clan - Royal family. King Cadwaladr, Crown Prince Cynfaen, Prince Fidencio (Harry), Princess Blodwen, Princess Glennette

The Onllwyn Clan: Beta Queen Tanwen, Prince Fidencio (Harry)

Hebridean Black: All have deep, black skin, obsidian scales, and black, jagged hair that is in sharp, hard spikes. Eyes are some shade of either red or purple. Tend to be aggressive.

Members:

The Brandubh Clan: None met yet

Swedish Short-Snout: All have silvery-blue scales, skin and hair that is either silver or blue or a mixture, and eyes that also shade in those colorings. Two small horns curve up from the center of their foreheads.

Members:

The Einar Clan: Omega Queen Valkyrie (Trained Midwife), Princess Blodwen, Princess Glennette

Chinese Fireball: Scarlet scales, wild gold hair that is mane-like, and skin that is usually a rich golden-toned tan. Eyes almost always a bright, baleful yellow, though duller tones are also known.

Members:

The He-ping Clan: Alpha Queen Xiao-xing, Crown Prince Cynfaen.

The Yun Clan: None met yet

Peruvian Vipertooth Clan: All members have copper scales, dark golden skin, black hair, two spiraling black horns that come from the temples. Venomous bite.

Members:

The Marquez Clan: Guadalupe

Antipodean Opaleye Clan: Alabaster-white skin, pearl-toned scales, platinum blond hair. Pupil-less & sclera-less eyes that are multifaceted rainbow-toned. Most beautiful of all the Drayches.

Members:

The Alohanani Clan: None met yet

Vassal Breeds:

Hungarian Horntail Clan: All members have rough brown skin, spiky black hair, large wings, and dangerously spiked tail. The only Drayche breed that holds wings and tail in their humanoid form. Vassal to the Common Welsh Green Clans.

Members:

The Maks Clan: Bernadette (Personal Vassal of Beta Queen Tanwen, nurse/guard for Prince Fidencio (Harry))

Norwegian Ridgeback Clan: All members have deep black skin, black ridges instead of hair, and a venomous bite (less so then the Peruvian Clan). Mildly aggressive towards other Drayche breeds, especially other Vassals. Vassals to the Hebridean Black Clan.

Members:

The Halvard Clan: None met yet

Romanian Longhorn Clan: All members have bulky, muscular bodies, dark green skin and hair, and two large, curving gold horns, out of their temples. Vassal to the Swedish Short-Snout Clan.

Members:

The Streiter Clan: None met yet

Ukrainian Ironbelly Clan: All members have silver-gray skin and scales, and dark red eyes. The largest of the Drayches, towering much higher than any other Clan. Vassals to the Chinese Fireball Clans.

Members:

The Kostyantyn Clan: Hryhoriy (Personal Vassal of Alpha Queen Xiao-xing, nurse/guard of Prince Cynfaen)

Neutral Breed:

Portuguese Long-Snout Clan: All members have lightly tanned skin, pale green scales, totally black eyes (without pupil or sclera), short, curly black hair (though light brown is occasionally seen), and two short, thick, curving ivory horns that come out of their temples. A mixture of the Royal and Vassal Breeds, who answer to no one, essentially, though their blood ties them to the King's rule.

Members:

The Ricardo Clan: None met yet
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Ar Sciatháin Sciobtha