Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
When Harry woke the next day, it was to discover that he was all alone in the grotto. The girl, her shirt, and her tie had vanished, leaving him completely on his own. At first Harry was baffled, but then he was a bit frightened. It had been the girl’s spell that had gotten him into the grotto in the first. Now how as was he supposed to get out? His nostrils flared as he detected the fragrant scent of freshly baked bread, and hunger quickly banished fear. He turned around and discovered a silver tray sitting at the edge of the pillow-filled pit. Two still-steaming loaves sat flanking two crystal jars, one filled with jam and the other filled with butter. Next to the right most loaf was a mug of tea crowned by a slice of lemon. Harry’s stomach rumbled at the sight, its message entirely too clear. Breakfast first.
Ten minutes later he had a full belly and…well, that was it, really. He made his way back to the wall where he thought they had come in and began to look for an exit.
What the wall lacked in clearly marked signs indicating a means of departure, it more than made up for with incredibly detailed murals. It was absolutely covered in etchings, starting with the earliest couplings between mortals and dragons. Whoever had been doing the art work had been exceptionally thorough, not leaving a single detail up to the imagination. His fingers traced the image of a woman bent over on all fours, braced to either side by the thick, tree trunk legs of a dragon. The dragon’s wings were flared out either side, and both dragon and woman had their heads tipped back and their mouths open in eternal screams. There appeared to be, quite literally, hundreds of different positions carved into the wall, starting with the most basic first and escalating as he moved to the right. Some depicted the involvement of more than one dragon, while many more involved two or, quite frequently, more than two women. Harry’s head tilted to the side as he reached the last row of carvings, and he let out a low whistle of disbelief. Granted, he was rather new when it came to sex, but those positions had to be physically impossible. People’s spines just didn’t bend that way…did they?
The next set of carvings depicted a lone woman and dragon pair. The two stood side by side, with the woman cradling an egg in her arms and an infant perched on the dragon’s upturned claw. A circle surrounded them, branching out in ten different directions. Those branches splintered even further, depicting the family trees of the ten different dragon clans. Some were noticeably longer than the others, with the seven longest curving up the wall to spread across the ceiling, while the shorter three dead-ended at the floor.
Another change began on the far side of the family trees. This time two men stood opposite one another, staff crossed with sword in obvious conflict. Above their heads two dragons were likewise locked in combat, struggling with tooth and claw as fire clashed with lightning. More dragons flew above them, preparing to enter the fray as well.
The last stage of the carvings depicted the chamber he was standing in. Eight dragons stood in positions roughly even with where the statues stood in real life. When Harry glanced back, he realized the horns and crests of the carvings actually did match those of the statues. Next to each dragon was a woman holding a staff and a man holding sword and shield. The copper dragon and its guards were missing from the circle, while the white dragon and its guards stood in the center of the circle, their arms and legs bound in chains. A huge X had been carved above the dragon’s head, with a dragon’s skull carved into the X’s upper angle.
After that, there were no more mentions of the whites or coppers. The last carving differed from the first few murals. Instead of more pictographs, it was crudely Latin, carved into the stone with much less finesse than had gone into the other works. It simply read, “Sic transit draconic gloria.” Harry frowned as he ran his fingers over the letters. “Sic transit draconic gloria? What-”
There was a flash and a sudden sense of not being, then Harry found himself standing once again in the corridor leading to the unused study rooms.
“-does that mean?” Harry finished. He blinked as he looked around and realized he was no longer trapped in the chamber. Had the entire thing been a dream? Maybe someone had spiked one of his drinks? But he’d been drinking from sealed bottles all night… “Oi! Harry!” Harry turned to find Fred and George standing at the entrance to the corridor. The twins were both grinning, and as they jogged over Fred (George?) shook his head and wagged his finger at Harry. “Tsk, tsk young man! You’re going to be late for breakfast! And if you’re late for breakfast, then you’ll be late for your first class! We wouldn’t want that, now would we?”
“I suppose not,” Harry murmured as he took one last look at the wall. “What are you doing down here, anyway?” George (Fred?) asked as the trio headed back towards the common room. “We’ve been trying to make sure all you first years are recovered from last night’s party, but you just sort of up and disappeared when the lights went down.”
“Well, there was this girl…”
“You dog, you!” Fred (George?) laughed and lightly punched Harry on the shoulder. “So who was she?”
“I don’t know,” Harry admitted. He quickly explained how the girl had approached him and seemed to know who he was, how she dragged him into the corridor and took them to the chamber. He sort of glossed over the sex, though it was obvious the twins already knew what had happened in that regards. He left out the carvings on the wall and how he had managed to get out of the chamber.
George (Fred?) frowned and shot a glance over at his brother. “You’re sure she had red hair, mate?”
Harry nodded. “Yeah. I mean, it was dark, but it wasn’t that dark. Long red hair, right down to her ass. Just like I said.”
“And she took you to a room with dragon statues in it?” the other twin asked. Harry decided to give up trying to tell which one was which. “Yes! Why?” Harry demanded angrily. “What, do you think I am making this up or something?”
The twin to his left shrugged. “No, no, we believe you, Harry, it’s just…”
“There aren’t any redheads in Gryffindor,” the other twin finished. “Not outside of our family, at any rate. And we’ve never heard of any room like the one you just described, either.”
“But…” Harry frowned. Had he really just imagined it after all?
The twin on his right leaned in and took a deep sniff. “Well, you definitely smell like you got some.”
The twin on his left leaned in as well and repeated the experiment. “Oh yes, definitely got some.”
“You know what this means, don’t you Fred?”
“Why, of course I do, George!”
“Harry fucked a ghost!” the twins shouted triumphantly as they rounded the corner into the Common Room.
“Who fucked a ghost?” Ron yawned as he tried to clear his eyes of sleep crust. He started to sit up, only to discover that Hermione was curled up against his side. He gave her a small shake to wake her up, then waited for her to move before he finished sitting up. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on the point of view, the two had somehow managed to find their way back into their clothes after shagging.
“I didn’t fuck a ghost!” But Harry was doubting the words even as they came off his tongue. “At least, I don’t think I fucked a ghost…”
Hermione’s nose wrinkled in confusion. “I expect it would be rather obvious. I mean, ghosts aren’t entirely corporeal, and lack the normal hue of living creatures. They are also much colder than the living, and leave behind a faint trace of ectoplasm when they interact with the corporeal world. So was you partner cold, hard to touch, and noticeably slimy?”
The four boys all gave her a weird look and Harry began to slowly shake his head in negation. The girl had been warm and soft and if he kept thinking about her then it was going to make walking awkward. “No. She was…no.”
Hermione shrugged. “Then you didn’t fuck a ghost.”
Harry’s shoulders sagged in relief. They tensed up a moment later. “Then who in the bloody hells was she?”
Hermione frowned. “Didn’t you get her name?”
Harry shook his head. “She didn’t want to give it to me, and she was gone before I woke up this morning.” One of the twins clapped Harry on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much there, Harry. She was likely someone from one of the other Houses who got let in by a friend. She saw the great Harry Potter and figured she’d bang a celebrity. No harm, no foul, and it sounds like you had a good time as well. I’d just write it off as a fun night and forget about it.”
“Thanks, George,” Harry sighed.
“Fred.”
“Oh, sorry, Fred.”
“Nah, I’m just kidding. I really am George.”
The other twin screwed up his face as he turned to look at his brother. “Are you sure about that? I thought I was George.”
“No, you’re Fred.”
“Are you sure?”
“Fairly sure.”
Harry glanced back and forth between the two and then looked at Ron. “Do you know any spells that would permanently tattoo their names to their foreheads?”
Ron barked a short laugh that made Hermione wince and place a hand against her temple. “Trust me, Harry, if there was such a spell my mum would have used it a long time ago!”

* * *
The Great Hall was a mix of emotions as the first breakfast of the year was served. The Gryffindors stumbled through it with all the practiced grace of a drunken hangover. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuff tables were both highly animated, the first discussing what their schedules looked like and what private projects they planned on undertaking, while the latter was discussing just about anything that came to mind. The Slytherins seemed to have split into three different camps. The older students had seized the end of the table closest to the staff table, and were acting much like their Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff counterparts. At opposite end of the table were those for whom blood mattered, eating with the sort of lazy impatience of those forced to abide someone else’s schedule even when they knew it wasn’t going to be them doing any real work. Caught in the middle were those without either the seniority and power that came with age and experience or the power and respect that came from being from an influential family. They ate like rats trapped in a cage, shoveling the food into their mouths as quickly as they could, in case something happened in the next few moments that would make eating difficult.
Harry watched it all from his seat about half way down the Gryffindor table. Despite what the twins had said, he was finding it impossible to get his mind off the girl. But no matter where he looked, there didn’t seem to be any sign of her. He could feel a tightness beginning to build between his shoulders. Had she simply decided to skip breakfast? Or were Fred and George right, and he had slept with something not human? The question was still running laps at the back of his mind as he, Ron, and Hermione set out for their first day of classes. Their first lesson was History of Magic, which Harry quickly realized meant that he was going to be given an extra two hour long nap right after breakfast three times a week. History of Magic was followed by two hours of Herbology, which wasn’t exactly the most thrilling class Harry had ever taken, but Professor Sprout was a lively little witch who managed to keep the class’s attention with a litany of jokes and bad puns as she ran them ragged round the green house. Lunch followed Herbology, and by that point Harry was too distracted to worry about his paramour. He, Ron, and Hermione spent the time discussing their previous lessons in between shoveling food into their mouths.
“So what do we have next?” Ron asked between ham sandwiches. The young man’s cheeks were bulged out around the food he had already crammed into his mouth, and trail of crumbs spilled down his chin to collect on his plate.
“Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Hermione answered with a frown. She was deliberately not looking in Ron’s direction, lest she spoil her appetite. Harry matched Hermione’s frown with one of his own. He recalled his reaction to Snape’s gaze during the opening feast. How bad would it be once he was stuck in the same room as the man for two hours?
“Something wrong there, Harry?” Ron asked after swallowing in one gulp enough food to have choked a lion.
Harry shook his head. “Just thinking.”
“Not about that girl, still?” Hermione asked. She placed her hand on his knee and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sure the sex was fun, Harry, but it can’t have been enough to keep distracting you like this.”
Harry shook his head again. “No, no, it isn’t anything like that. I just have a bad feeling about Snape. When we were at the feast last night I caught him staring at me, and then my head started hurting, right where my scar is.” Harry tapped his forehead to reinforce his claim.
Hermione looked doubtful. “The man is supposed to be an Auror… I can’t see the school hiring someone who would prove dangerous to the students.”
“I dunno about that,” Ron cut in as he reached for a handful of jammy dodgers. “My dad’s told me loads of horror stories about what Snape gets up to on raids. They say he’s one bad day from becoming a Dark Wizard himself.”
“Well, I suppose we shall just have to find out, won’t we?” Hermione asked tightly. Both boys just nodded.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts classrooms had been moved down to the dungeons, convenient to the needs of the Gryffindor first years as it meant they wouldn’t have far to go to reach their Potions class, also in the dungeons, as well as convenient to the needs of the staff who found it handy to have both of the two classrooms most likely to explode buried deep beneath the rest of the castle. If it just so happened that an explosion rattled the Slytherin dorms every once in a while, well, that was just the price one had to pay for safety.
Harry had heard the words dungeon and dark arts and expected to be walking into something straight off the set of a macabre horror film, with the entire room covered in rusted chains and a liberal supply of skulls scattered about to stare at the students in a menacing manner. Instead the classroom looked, well, like a classroom. Forty desks had been laid out in five rows of eight each, facing the three rolling chalkboards that had been placed at the front of the classroom. In the back of the room were half a dozen bookcases, filled with a collection of multicolored tomes. A roaring fire occupied a space in the wall opposite the door, providing much needed heat for a room built partially under the mostly frozen waters of the lake. Set off to its side was a rather plain oak desk, close enough that the person sitting there could work comfortably without having to worry about scorching their back or accidentally catching on fire if a loose ember found their robes. Snape stood in front of the desk, leaning back against it as he perused a book wrapped in cracked black leather. He snapped the book shut with one hand as the Gryffindors began to file in. “Take your seats. Feel free to spread out, as well. There are certain tasks we will be performing during the course of your lessons where you might find it wise to be outside the immediate reach of your neighbors.”
He spoke each word with careful excruciation, his voice coming out as a raspy drawl. Hermione insisted on sitting front and center for each of their classes, and by luck of the crowd Harry found himself sitting front and to her left, with Ron directly behind him. He caught himself staring at Snape, and now that the two were nearly face to face it was obvious why the Auror’s voice sounded so badly damaged. Two long gashes had left a scar curving around the right side of the man’s face, starting near the corner of his forehead and following his cheekbone to the top of his lips. His left nostril had been blasted away at some point, leaving his nose looking oddly crooked, and there was a blotchy patch of black skin over his throat, right above his vocal chords, as if someone had tried to save his life by sealing a wound with skin from the nearest corpse without even stopping to see if it was a match for color.
Snape was leaning against his desk with his arms folded across his chest as he watched the class shuffle in. His eyelids were half closed and he had an almost bored look upon his face, but Harry could see the way his eyes darted back and forth, scanning each student’s face as they found their seats. The teacher’s gaze seemed to linger for a few extra moments on Neville, and then Harry winced when he realized it was his turn. But there was no flash of pain as there had been the other night. Instead he opened his eyes to find Snape now staring at him, as if trying to decipher the reason for Harry’s flinching.
The usual chatter started as the Gryffindor’s took their seats. Snape allowed it continue for several moments before ordering, “Quiet!” Every last student froze, just as they were, unwilling to dare risk making even the barest scrape that might have defied that command. Snape had not raised his voice; there had been no need. That single word had carried near as much power as any spell the first years had learned, side by side with an unstated promise that anyone who chose not to obey was going to very much loathe the consequences of such a decision.
Snape nodded once he was sure he had everyone’s attention. “I am sure that many of your other professors took this time at the beginning of their class to bid you welcome, to get to know your names, and all sorts of the usual maudlin pleasantries that accompany your first day of classes. I am not going to do any of those things. I do not care whether you come to like me or not, nor do I have any particular interest in knowing who you are. If, by chance, I do come to know your name, it is most likely because you have had some reason to come to my attention. Whether that is for good or ill is up to you.”
“The expectation is that by the end of this year, you will be able to defend yourself against the most rudimentary of monsters and hexes. I have seen what the Ministry considers to be an appropriate level of knowledge for those of your competence. I find their estimates to be sorely lacking, both in level of preparedness and appreciation for what witches and wizards of your age might attempt to achieve as you experiment with your newly accessed powers.” He gave the class a slightly crooked grin that carried more malice than mirth. “Whether that is a willful denial of their own tarnished youths or just plain ignorance and well-wishing by those who create the curriculum, I could not tell you. What I can tell you is that I have absolutely no intention of adhering to their design, but will instead be teaching you according to one of my own.”
Snape pushed off his desk and walked around behind it and pulled out a small bowl, which he began to fill with water. “There are many who associate magic with power. This is an understandable mistake to make, and should not be held against them, for magic allows us to do many things of which muggles would be quite incapable.” A snap of his fingers caused a rose to materialize above the surface of the water. Snape reached down and plucked it out of the air, then began twirling it between his fingers. “Indeed, there are also varying levels of talent and skill between those of us who are gifted to wield spellcraft. What I am capable of is many years of experience ahead of you, assuming you have sufficient ability and will to start with.”
The rose froze mid twirl so that it stood suspended above the palm of his hand and Snape’s eyes turned to steel. “But magic is not power. Power, true power, is the ability to reform the world as you wish it to be. Some can do this with magic, yes, it is true! Others can do it with mere words, urging those around them to form the world for them, whether by deliberate intent or by accident of fate and birth. You may go your entire life without ever knowing the true taste of power.”
The Gryffindors began to fidget in their seats, and those who dared gave each other uneasy looks. Was their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher a complete utter madman? What in Merlin’s name was he ranting about power for?
Snape ignored the looks as he continued his speech. “Power, in and of itself, is not evil. Rather, it is the intent with which power is wielded that determines whether or not it begins to take the shape of that which we call the Dark Arts. Throughout history there have been many men and women who have sought to change the world around them. Most failed in their tasks, and either perished or retired from the field, forgotten by the sands of time. Others were successful and made the world a better place, those we now call heroes. But there is a third group that exists. Those who, when the world fails to acknowledge their desires, attempt to force it to take heed of their existence. They dress their actions up in all sorts of pretty words, justifying their deeds in the name of knowledge, or love, or security. They whisper fine things of destinies and legacies, promising rich rewards to those who follow them and bitter punishments for those who defy them. We call them many things. Warlock. Sorceress. Villain. They are the ones who do not just seek out the Dark Arts, but dedicate their lives to its practice.”
The hand under the rose remained steady as Snape rolled up the sleeve of his robes. His free hand clamped down around his wrist, and he muttered something that was too quiet for Harry to hear. The rose exploded into a puff of grey smoke, which immediately pulled back into the form of a skull. The skull half turned to the left, then swung right, before returning to the center. As it did, the lower jaw dropped open with an audible click and an emerald serpent slithered out between the parted teeth to rise, hissing, in front of the class.
“And the worst thing?” Snape asked with a smile. “You never know when one is standing right in front of you.”

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@Tarcha: Harry is going to be slowly gathering a harem around him, but right now he's still getting his bearings and so isn't thinking about relationships. As for bisexuality, that's sort of being debated on what fits where.
AN: No idea what originally happened to the formatting, but it should be fixed now.
- 8
- 9
- 10
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Chronicle of Scales: Dragkyn Rising