Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

There Be Dragons, Harry	By : Scioneeris Category: HP Canon Characters paired with Original Characters > Slash - Male/Male Views: 58382 -:- Recommendations : 8 -:- Currently Reading : 27
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of its characters. I make no money by writing this story..

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The pains started shortly after his birthday.

Harry remembered staring at the clock and feeling absolutely nothing when the numbers flickered over to what they ought to be. It had been a horrible day. The worst birthday yet—and the worst summer he'd spent at the Dursley's so far. Today hadn't been any exception.

A shudder wracked his body as he lay on his stomach, fighting to control his breathing in even, slow draws. He felt completely helpless and dirty.

Everything had just gone all wrong since he'd returned this year. A tremor wriggled through him and Harry clenched his teeth together, tight. A sudden wave of pain washed over him, once, twice and then a third time.

His thoughts and musings went elsewhere as Harry felt himself slipping. He only remembered a few precious moments of sanity—and then the real pain began.

At first, he thought it might drive him mindless, but that thought flew out the window when he distracted himself by recounting every single painful incident that had ever happened to him in the course of the few years he'd been alive.

Well, granted, sixteen years wasn't really a few—but it was the principle of the thing.

Harry drifted in and out of the painful haze, writhing, twisting and screaming, though it seemed as if his screams went unheard. No one came—and no one complained either. Harry felt himself grow weak as his throat ached and his voice grew hoarse with all the screaming.

The pain was worse than even the Cruciatus curse several times over and Harry could remember that moment all too well.

At some point, he exhausted himself, physically—there was simply no strength left within him to lift his limbs and it seemed as if even thinking hurt his very being. His magic waned and dribbled away and Harry was helpless to stop it from leaving.

He felt a terrible coldness seep into him and then, a sudden, striking emptiness.

It was gone.

His mind was too befuddled to properly process that, but it didn't stop more tears from welling up in his already burning eyes. He snuffled into the thin sheets of his bed and that was it.

When Harry woke the next morning, the night's events felt like a distant dream.

Attempting to rouse himself from the awkward position of half-on and half-off the bed, tangled up in the sheets, Harry discovered just how distant that particular dream was.

A whimper sounded as he tumbled to the floor and somehow managed to spring up on shaky hands and knees, when his body collided painfully with the wooden floor. The sudden movements did nothing to ease his discomfort and after several moments of careful shifting, Harry gingerly stretched upwards to his feet.

He made it about halfway to his bedroom door before the pain grew too much and he collapsed on the cold, wooden floor and blacked out.

When Harry woke again, he wasn't sure how much time had passed. He was relieved to find that his body no longer protested every movement or thought and doubly happy to note that there was practically no pain left at all.

He yawned and stretched up from the floor and found himself making up the bed before the rest of his sleep-fogged mind caught up to him. It was cold in the room and he wasn't wearing anything.

A scowl presented itself and Harry rummaged around to find a new shirt, shorts and pants. He found socks last and slowly put them on, wondering what had happened to his pajamas during the night. He'd seen a few small scraps of fabric as he'd made up the bed, but nothing big enough to verify that it had been his pajamas.

He sighed. An urge to get to the bathroom made itself known and he padded over to the door and tested the knob.

The locks were open and he pushed the door out, stepping into the hall. It seemed about midday, if his guess was accurate and Harry made his way to the bathroom, listening carefully for any sound from the Dursley's.

He heard none.

He slipped into the bathroom, feeling rather smug with himself and went about his morning business. He stood in front of the sink, washing his hands when he finally caught sight of his face.

He wasn't wearing his glasses.

Bright green eyes stared back at him.

Green eyes with black-cat-like slit pupils.

Harry choked.

The garbled, strangled sound seemed stuck in his throat and Harry bent to splash several handfuls of cold water on his face.

When he surfaced again, the reflection hadn't changed.

In fact, Harry was sure he could see even more changes now.

His creamy skin was even paler than he remembered and his messy hair now curled at the tips. His ears were now slightly pointed and a pale silver-peach tint seemed to run all along them. He reached up, tentatively stroking the colors, shocked when his fingers touched, cool, small scales.

They were icy to the touch and they rippled as he stroked them, first one ear and then the other. Panic nearly set in, but as Harry began to worry—the scales faded into his skin right before his eyes.

Harry ripped off his shirt and stared.

The familiar battery of scars and bruises—Uncle Vernon's weekly present—were gone. Even the few scars he'd accumulated thanks to Voldemort, were conspicuously absent.

Harry swallowed. He was, by no means, a vain person, but a certain thrill ran through him as he took in the smooth, unblemished skin. He'd wondered a few times, what it would be like to look normal—normal as a regular teenage boy without battle scars and other injuries.

He admired himself for a minute, before he realized the soft, silvery-white glow that came to his skin. Careful examination showed that he had the same silver-peach scales decorating his sides. As he focused on them, the scales grew more prominent and he could see how well they covered his body.

From the tops of his shoulders, his arms and then the sides of his torso and his back and then they disappeared into the waistline made by his pants. Harry hummed to himself as he shimmied out of the rest of his clothes to see what other secrets his body had to show him.

There was a maze of tattoos down his back. It was as if someone had simply decided to trace an entire set of swirls, circles and knots all across his body, ending in a pointed swirl right above his tailbone and never reaching the tops of his shoulders or the more colorful scales on the sides of his torso.

A pleased sound rumbled in his throat and Harry found himself smiling at his reflection.

A smile that melted away to a look of horror when he realized that a fine smattering of colored scales now decorated the sides of his face and neck and his hands had turned into strong, pointed, claws.

The squeak that left his lips was quite undignified, but Harry was too startled to speak. No sooner had he realized the reality of his claws, before he felt his feet curl and then his socks were shredded away and Harry realized that even his feet had morphed to show the powerful claws.

Twin strips of fire ran up and down his back, along his shoulder blades and then a muffled cry drew Harry's attention back to the mirror.

He stared in awe.

Two large, scaled wings had burst from his back and the last traces of any human skin had been swiftly covered by the silver-peach tinted scales. The wings were bloody and wrinkled, and instinctively, Harry worked to pull them close to him and to stretch and soothe the appendages.

He found himself slipping into a strange sort of daze as he took a shower without a single thought as to what his dear Aunt Petunia would think if she knew 'the freak' was using her precious bathroom.

He took his time with the shower, washing his wings and his entire body. When the shower was over, he toweled himself dry with a the softest specimen he could find.

Aunt Petunia would certainly throw a fit. He snickered and continued his careful toweling.

The very process seemed to do wonders for the winged appendages as he was able to spread them almost entirely. They remained painfully sensitive and it wasn't until Harry worried how he'd hide them that he saw them shrink and recede into his back, amidst the tangle of moving tattoos.

Moving tattoos.

Harry stifled a moan as he felt a flicker of himself return. Strange things always happened to him. If he didn't know better, he'd think he was turning into some dragon-wizard hybrid.

A twinge of unease registered at that and Harry hurriedly dressed and retreated to his room. He was puzzled by the strange emptiness of the house and the distinct lack of noise. His curiosity got the better of him and Harry went downstairs to investigate—after checking the driveway from his window.

It seemed as if the Dursley's had gone out.

Where, Harry didn't know and quite frankly, didn't really care.

They'd left him—though that was nothing new—and he was hungry!

In a sudden fit of near rebellion, he yanked open the fridge and began to pull out items at random. He made himself a sandwich of sorts, before his stomach gave an impressive rumble and Harry found himself sitting at the table, gorging himself on the raw meat from the fridge.

By the time he caught up with his actions, the deliciously full sensation of his stomach swiftly overrode any thoughts of disgust and repulsion. Harry then meticulously cleaned up the mess he'd made and went upstairs again.
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There Be Dragons, Harry