Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Death in All its Many Forms ❯ Chapter 3: Drako's Modern Life ( Chapter 3 )
[ P - Pre-Teen ]
By: waltermitty 
In which Drako has to learn to live with consequences of his actions, and Drakia displays astonishing powers.
Non Anime: Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Fantasy / Adventure | Type: Divergence | Uploaded On: 06.12.2012 | Pages: 3 | Words: 5.9K | Visits: 565 | Status: Completed
In which Drako has to learn to live with consequences of his actions, and Drakia displays astonishing powers.
Non Anime: Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Fantasy / Adventure | Type: Divergence | Uploaded On: 06.12.2012 | Pages: 3 | Words: 5.9K | Visits: 565 | Status: Completed
Draco hated his new life, if it could even be called a life. He missed being the pampered heir of the Malfoy fortune. He wasn’t used to having to work for a living, either. He seemed to spend most of his time on bizarre errands for the Green Lady. Most of them seemed to be worthless wastes of time to him, such as when he spent an entire day helping a Fairy Colony relocate itself. The Green Lady had been very specific in her instructions, and she had made him feel her reluctance to deal with him. He had to find exactly the right kind of toadstools, and they had to be a specific distance from water. The fairies bit him occasionally, too.
He also had the “pleasure” of attending to animals and fey creatures that had been hurt in the various Death Eater uprisings all over Europe. They straggled into the forest with broken limbs and cursed bodies, seeking help from the Green Lady. She set up a sort of hospital for them near the island where Draco's parents lived, and she set Draco to healing the less injured creatures while she attended to the more serious wounds and curses.
Draco found himself using magic spells he’d never learned, or cared to learn. He could have cared less if a few rabbits and pixies died, but the Green Lady took every field mouse's death as if the beast were her own kin.
“Can we call it a night?” he asked her, wiping sweat from his forehead. There was no answer. He turned to repeat himself, and saw her holding a dead falcon.
Shimmering tears ran down her face, and she looked hundreds of years old.
“Go to your parents, Vel. I'll finish up here,” she said tiredly. He knew she needed help with the healings, but he felt no compulsion to help her. He wasn't exactly there of his own choosing, after all. He felt a deep distaste for her as he left.
He hadn't seen his parents since he'd brought them to their new home. The Green Lady had kept him too busy, and she had told him to sleep wherever he finished for the night. He had tried to argue with her a few times, but she had no patience with him. She would simply force pain through his Mark, ending the discussion.
Lucius was looking much better. Except for his thinness and the new wrinkles across his brow, he might have been the old Lucius that Draco knew. Draco smiled when he saw his family, but his mother looked concerned. She took his arm and peered at it in the twilight.
“Draco dear, when did you turn green?”
His arm did have a distincly greenish cast to it. “I don't know, exactly. It seems like whenever She uses me I turn a little greener.” He shrugged.
“There’s nothing to be done about it. Sometimes She actually makes me miss the Dark Lord.”
Lucius' eye twitched. “This isn't right; I'll talk to her when I see her. There must be something she wants. We'll find some way to buy you back from her.”
Draco felt a bit of pity. Lucius really didn't get it. “She doesn't think like us. She only cares about fey things. I don't think care is even the right word. I feel her thoughts sometimes, and they just aren't like ours. It's like trying to negotiate with a tree.”
Narcissa put on a smile for her son, although it looked a bit strained. “The centaurs left us some squash stew. Have some with us.”
They sat and ate in comfortable silence, and he bedded down on a nice pile of vines that seemed to have grown into a bed shape just for him. He didn't know when he'd slept so well. He had exhausted himself running errands for his mistress, and he wondered if he would ever be free of her.
The following morning, Narcissa decided to help her son a bit. They may have to live in the woods, but that didn't mean they should give up proper grooming habits. She plucked at a small twig that was sticking out of his hair, and was surprised when Draco yelled and clutched his head.
“Mother, what are you doing? Stop trying to pull my hair out!”
“There's a twig stuck there darling – a few twigs actually. Let me get them out.” She used her fingers to carefully pull apart the tangled white hair to find that the twigs were actually attached to his scalp, and seemed to have roots reaching down into his head.
When she told Draco, he panicked. He slapped his Mark hard, trying to put a forceful calling into it. He paced impatiently for an hour or so before She arrived.
“What have you done to me? What is this?” he asked, pointing to the twigs. She looked at his head, but was obviously reluctant to touch him. She shrugged disinterestedly.
“I've never taken a human servent before. Your skin is green, too.” She lifted his chin to look in his eyes and laughed. “You're becoming fey, little one.” She wiped her hand on her dress, as if touching him left her soiled.
Lucius was furious. “Now see here! Draco doesn't want to be fey! You can't do this to him.”
“Actually, I'm not doing this to him. The green magic I placed into him is mutating him, or at least that's what I think is happening. I don't generally pay enough attention to humans to know how your bodies react. You are sadly frail beings. I lose interest in your angst, Vel. I have other things to do, so you'll have to deal with your problems on your own.” With that she apparated away, leaving the Malfoys stunned and uncomfortable.
She didn’t call Draco for the rest of the day, so he had some time to spend with his parents. He noticed that Lucius didn't quite want to meet his eyes now, as if he was uncomfortable with Draco’s problem. Narcissa's own eyes were bloodshot from crying, and Draco was almost relieved when She called him to Herself again.
Xxxx
Severus waited impatiently for Drakia at the teachers' lounge. She had been acting oddly lately, and she had been occasionally skipping their lounge times. He was torn between the need to see her again and his natural repulsion at the thought of needing anyone else. When she finally arrived a half-hour late, he was more concerned than angry when he saw her pale skin and flushed cheeks.
“Are you feeling well, Drakia? You look a little feverish.” The Slytherin side of him hoped whatever she had wasn't catching. He was surprised, however, at a genuine concern for her.
“Just a little tired, Sev. I need to get out more.”
He didn't really liked being called Sev, but from her he allowed it. She at least had the good sense to only do it in private.
He sat his papers aside. He might not know a lot about women, but he knew they liked attention, and he wanted to keep this one. She was not only beautiful, but powerful as well. He couldn't help but think that she would be a great asset to his family line. He realized he hadn't tried to find out if she was a pureblood yet, and was surprised to find out he didn't really care. The side of himself he was discovering was turning out to be more troublesome than anything. He liked knowing he wasn’t destined to be evil, but he still resonated more with Slytherin philosophy than with Griffindor thinking. It bothered him that new types of thoughts continually intruded. It also bothered him that he was beginning to enjoy giving in to those impulses occasionally. With Drakia, however, he didn’t mind so much.
That was how he'd been since Drakia healed him. It almost seemed as if a Slytherin and a Griffindor were in his head battling for control. Some days he felt as if it would tear him apart.
“Would a walk around Hogsmeade help you feel better?” he asked, hoping she would turn him down. It was a necessary show of concern, but he had papers to grade and a detention he really didn't want to reasign.
“No,” she said listlessly, and he noticed that she was looking out the window toward the forest.
He turned back to his papers; apparently she didn't really want to talk.
“Did you ever just need to fly?” she asked quietly.
“What? Don't tell me you're the Quiddich type and I'm just now finding out.”
She seemed jolted out of a revery. “Oh, nothing. Sorry, I was just thinking out loud.”
They spent the rest of the study hall in silence. He found himself wondering how he should properly ask her to marry him. It would be best to get her before Potter found a way to steal her for himself. He couldn’t stand the thought of Potter’s hands on his Drakia.
Xxxxx
The Weasleys' relief at their daughter's recovery was short-lived. Ginny didn’t act like herself, quarreling with her brothers and parents over everything, and she left only a couple days after she arrived. Molly got word from Fred that she had quit going to school and hadn't been seen since.
Ron tromped down the stairs, and Molly frowned at him. “Ronald dear, you could at least shave. You look like a tramp.”
He grumbled something and rumbled around in the fridge for leftovers.
“Any word?” she asked, crossing her fingers behind her back.
“Nothing,” he said around a mouthful of egg salad. “It's like she fell off the edge of the map. I checked the stores, the beauty parlors, everywhere I know she likes. I thought I saw her once last night, but it must have been someone else.
Molly felt a sudden surge of hope. “Where, Ronald?”
He shook his head. “There's no way Gin would be hanging around Knockturn Alley, mom. As I was passing by, I could have sworn I saw her in the shadows. I tried to follow, but whoever it was disappeared.”
Hermoine apparated into the room and hugged Molly.
“At least some good came out of all this,” Molly said. She wiped a few tears from her eyes. “I'm glad to have you back dear.” She left the room to give them some privacy.
Xxxxx
Just before Christmas, a new scene graced the castle. As McGonagall was doing her nightly rounds, a huge shadow fell over her. She looked up to see the siloutte of a dragon between herself and the moon. She recognized Drakia, and stayed for a few minutes to watch her gracefull acrobatics. She felt safer knowing a dragon animagus soared above Hogwarts.
Severus was always a bit startled when the green and silver decorations suddenly sprung up in the Slytherin common room. It almost seemed as if Christmas snuck up on him every year, what with the hectic schedule he always kept. This year was special though. This was going to be the year he humiliated Potter in front of the entire wizarding world.
He had been looking forward to the battle all semester. He had expected Drakia to try to talk him out of it, but she had simply said, “I'm not a Gryffindor, so I won't make useless emotional gestures. Please don't actually kill him though. We do need him when we finally find Voldemort. I think roughing him up a bit should be enough for whatever male ego battle you two are fighting.” After that she pretended the duel wasn’t happening.
Severus spent the first part of the day with Drakia, opening the first present he had received since Albus had died. He didn't miss Albus' yearly offering of brightly colored socks, but he did miss the gesture. Drakia gave him a handsome firewisky decanter, with a pewter dragon circling the bottom. He gave her an engagement ring, which she accepted.
Once the necessities were out of the way, he left with the excuse of being tired. He really needed to prepare for the next day's duel. He spent the rest of the day practicing spells and curses.
That night he had tortured dreams of Albus. He awoke to see the ghost of the former Headmaster floating near the baseboard of his bead. “Please Severus,” he begged with tears running down into his beard. “Don't do this. Please.”
How could he say no? He had rarely been able to tell Albus no in life, and he still couldn't tell him no in death. “I won't kill him, Albus – for you.”
The ghost shook his head. “Don't do this battle, Severus. I'll never rest easy if you two duel to the death – and it will be to the death. Neither of you do anything partway.”
Severus was about to protest that he could beat Potter without killing him, but he realized that Albus was right. It just wasn't in him to back down. If he dueled Potter he would kill or be killed; there was no other way. Dumbledore's ghost just floated, waiting for an answer.
“I promise. I won't duel him. I do hope you realize you cost me an extreme amount of embarrassment.”
The ghost smiled and wiped his face with his sleeve. “Thank you Severus.” He disappeared, and Snape spent the rest of the night searching for a way to turn the deteriorating situation to his advantage.
When they arrived at the dueling arena, he was surprised at the number of wizard and witches gathered to support their chosen duelist. They carried signs with his or Harry’s picture. Various women shouted proposals at both of them. There was a festival atmosphere, and while on one level he appreciated the attention, on another level he was disgusted with their shallowness.
Snape and Harry stood on the stage, with their seconds close by. The brat had taken the chance to visit the best tailors, and he wore the trendiest dueling gloves of kid skin, along with red robes with real gold thread woven into them. The announcer approached and used an amplification spell so the croud could hear them.
“Witches and wizards and mages of all ages, we have here for your amazement and amusement two of the most powerful wizards of our time - the two wizards responsible for You-Know-Who's downfall. These two wizards, the cornerstones of Hogwart's power, the masters of secrets unknown to other men, the ablest and most powerfull...”
Snape quit listening to his drabble and focused on his strategy. Pulling this off would mark him as one of England's noblest wizards. If he couldn’t have a physical victory, he’d settle for a political victory, which would add another notch to his belt. If he failed he would look like a coward.
The announcer moved to Harry. “Professor Potter. Do you have any words before this historic event?”
Harry grinned and looked over the crowd. He searched until his eyes met Drakia's. “I would like to dedicate this victory to the most beautiful enchantress, Drakia. Madam,” he said, and bowed elegantly in her direction.
The crowd gasped along with Drakia, who wasn't pleased. A murmer went through the crowd. Despite McGonagall's promise, Snape had been in the tabloids frequently, and his romance with Drakia was followed almost as faithfully as the royal romances and scandals.
Snape was furious with Potter’s audacity, but happy with the boy’s naivity. What the brat had done worked in his favor. The crowd was almost entirely for him now. When the announcer turned to him, he played his rehearsed part well. He figured if he was going to be forced to look foolish for the sake of the old man, he was going to milk this situation for all it was worth. He was Head of Slytherin house again, after all. He had a reputation to uphold.
“I would like to take this opportunity to formally appologize to Professor Potter for the rudeness I displayed to him earlier this semester. I have decided that it ill befits the memory of Albus Dumbledore, our mutaul friend and mentor, to have two of his closest friends try to kill each other.”
He extended a hand toward Potter. “Please Harry, for the sake of Albus, let's end this.” He smiled as charmingly as he could manage with the bad teeth, and he held his hand toward Harry for about half a minute while the crowd cheered wildly. Harry turned red and shook with anger. Finally Snape shook his head in a parody of sadness and turned to walk away, hiding the secret joy he felt. He had won. He had to fight hard to keep from smirking.
As he turned, he saw Drakia’s face, smiling proudly at what she saw as his nobility of spirit. He felt a quick twinge of guilt, which he set aside. He reasoned that even if he had made her happy with a dishonest act, she was happy; that was what mattered. A happy powerful fiancée was a placated fiancée. As he watched, the expression on her face changed to confusion, and then horrified shock.
Snape had underestimated Harry once again, perhaps for the last time. He realized what was happening behind him too late to duck the curse. He heard Potter’s voice shouting, “Crucio!” and fell, unable to defend himself.
In the split second before the pain hit, he had time to fully understand his folly. Snape was one of the fastest dueling masters in history, and even with a shot from behind Potter shouldn’t have been able to best him. As he turned he saw that Potter’s hand was covered by what seemed to be a black mist. Snape had seen that mist before. It was extremely strong dark magic, guaranteed to give a mage unbelievable speed, but at the cost of a thestral colt’s life, and other more diabolical deeds. Potter in his rage had revealed himself to the world as a Dark Wizard.
At first Snape wasn’t worried, because he’d been through this curse before - under bullies at school and then later under Voldemort. He’s actually built up a small tolerance to the mental effects. As the curse grew in strength though, he realized that it was different from any pain he’d ever felt in his life. The previous casters had been idle bullies, or sadists. They were just playing compared to the anger and rage he felt from Potter. This was the most personal casting of the Cruciatus curse he’d ever felt. Voldemort hadn’t hated him; he had merely chastised him like a bad dog. Potter was pouring all the hate of his emo life into this one spell.
Pain slowed time to a crawl, and he noticed the official dueling clock over Potter’s shoulder. An hour of pain went by, and the second hand moved once. Panic laced through him. A second? It was generally several minutes before a Cruciatus victim lost him mind, and that seemed like an eternity to him. The scientific part of his brain felt that it was too bad he wouldn’t be able to write about the experience; he’d be too crazy.
The next hour/second passed in waves, and he felt Potter fine tuning the curse just for him, playing his nerves like a harp. The third hour/second of pain had just started, and he was trying unsuccessfully to move any appendage at all, when he heard a great roar behind him.
Snape watched helplessly, unable to move enough to take advantage of the distraction Drakia created as she launched her full dragon-form over the stage at Harry. Fortunately, it was an open stadium, or the great dragon wouldn’t have fit in the building.
A giant scarred claw descended upon Harry, forcing him to break the curse and jump backward just before Drakia smashed the stage where he had been standing. She threw a massive wing over Severus to shield him from the splinters and any further magic assault Harry might send at him. She set free a full roar in Harry’s direction, but he’d spent enough time with the Weasleys to get a bit of dragon lore from their most adventurous son. The dragon roar was just a scare tactic, and so lost its advantage on Harry. What did scare him though, was what she did next. He watched in horror as a massive ball of pure magic began to form in front of her open mouth, growing in size and intensity until its blue glow eclipsed everything around it.
Pandemonium ensued around the massive beast, as many wizards tried to flee, and some of the bravest wizards threw curses at Drakia. Their desire to avoid destruction in the very heart of London made them ineffective. They couldn’t use their most powerful spells, or they might cause collateral damage. McGonagall climbed onto the stage, severely dwarfed by the dragon, but determined to do her part to stop the catastrophe about to happen. She’d never seen this type of attack before, but she estimated that if Drakia released pure concentrated magic as a ranged attack she’d level at least half of London. It would be the magical equivalent of a muggle atomic bomb.
Drakia’s tail whipped down and smashed more of the stage, sending great shards flying. Madam Hooch, master of all things flying, had little trouble snatching the splinters and logs out of the air with bits of magic, rendering them harmless.
McGonagall used a megaphone spell to try to reach the enraged serpent. “Drakia, don’t do it!” she bellowed. “Too many people will die.”
The dragon’s power continued to form and grow, and she didn’t acknowledge McGonagall’s presence. The headmistress had an odd realization; the people who had stayed were among the bravest and strongest fighters the English magic world had to offer. If they all died here, only the cowards who ran and left London to destruction would be left to carry the magic world forward.
She heard various curses and spells being fired off around her: defensive spells, offensive spells, whatever people could think of. They simply bounced off the creature. The only spell that seemed to even faze her was Molly Weasley’s attempt to use a scrubbing spell that was reserved for her most stubborn pots. She put a great deal of power into it, but was only able to cause a small wound on Drakia’s shoulder about four feet wide. It wasn’t enough to stop Drakia’s concentration on her spell, but it did shower down a small stream of acidic blood, sending the mages scuttling away from the hissing shower that added the stench of burnt wood and flesh to the scene.
A massive “pop” of a large group of wizards apparating into the room finally caught Drakia’s attention.
Voldemort and his henchmen stood, their jaws gaping at the scene before them. There were a few of the old guard, but most of the Death-eaters were young men.
Voldemort quickly regained his composure and threw a death curse at Harry, who dodged it neatly. Harry forgot his fight with Drakia and threw himself into the new battle just as furiously as he had attacked Snape.
Drakia allowed the magic building up before her to dissipate so she could deal with the new danger. She stuck to ranged attacks so she could keep her massive wing over Snape, who was still stunned from the curse. It hampered her though. The Death-eaters only had to stay out of the reach of her claws, and now that she’d calmed down a bit after Harry’s attack on Snape she saw the danger of ranged attacks in a place filled with enemies and allies. She sent a few startlingly accurate attacks at the death eaters, but she had to painstakingly aim at - what were for her – very small targets.
Everyone was amazed at Harry’s unsuspected strength and speed. He moved around the other wizards, so much faster than them it almost seemed as if he was flying. The dark energy buzzed around him, aiding and – although he didn’t know at the time – corrupting him. He kept many of the mages from death, zipping in and pushing them out of the way of curses. He finally seemed to have remembered whose side he was on. Once he even stopped a large piece of the wall from falling on Mad Eye by catching it and shoving it aside in a show of inhuman strength. Mad Eye spared him a distrustful look before leaping back into battle.
Everyone fought as hard as they could, but many of the mages had already used a great deal of energy trying to stop Drakia. In the end, Voldemort was left with only two Death-eaters. They were young men that had just graduated Hogwarts with poor grades. They needed to make a name for themselves, and Voldemort had been only too happy to oblige. The only reason they were still alive is because the more experienced Death-eaters drew the aggression from the mages.
There was a brief pause in battle as the wounded were dragged out. The Death-eaters cringed behind Voldemort, wands shaking in front of them. Drakia roared, angered further by her inability to reach them.
McGonagall spoke. “You’re obviously outnumbered. Why don’t you turn yourselves in? I’m sure the authorities will understand that you boys were manipulated.” They wouldn’t understand at all, but she hoped the boys were too panicked to think the situation through.
One of the boys lowered his wand slightly. McGonagall could see that he’d been crying. His mask had fallen off in the fight and she could see his frightened face clearly. She couldn’t quite recall his name. What was it? Henry, Helly, Herbie? That was it – Herbie.
“Herbie Henworth, isn’t it?”
The boy nodded and pushed some sweat-slicked hair from his face.
“Come here, Herbie. This doesn’t have to end like this.” She saw indecision on his face. He was probably wondering is a lifetime in Azkaban was better than death in a battle he didn’t even care about any more.
Herbie dropped his wand and made a move toward her. Just as he moved in front of Voldemort, the old wizard grabbed him from behind. He wrapped an arm around Herbie’s neck and pulled him backward toward an overturned bench. He used the now screaming boy as a human shield while he threw curse after curse at the defenders. Herbie died quickly, but not before he saw his “friend” run toward the door full speed. In the confusion, the traitor actually managed to escape. Herbie was left alone with Voldemort and his enemies - dying and unwanted.
Voldemort threw Herbie’s body toward the defenders just as he dived behind his make-shift bunker. He quickly cast a powerful spell on the broken bench that transfigured it into a concrete barrier. Chips of stone flew off in all directions from the mages’ frustrated attacks, but Voldemort was able to gather himself and assess the situation.
Snape recovered from Harry’s curse enough to struggle out from under Drakia’s wing. He was unable to move his legs properly. They tingled and didn’t respond to his commands. He settled for shooting curses from a sitting position on what was left of the stage.
Drakia was surprised Snape had recovered at all. Most wizards would have been rendered unconscious by a spell half as vicious as Harry’s Cruciatus. Remembering the spell made her half-spent fury reassert itself, and she decided when this battle was over she’d kill Harry before he had a chance to rebuild his strength or flee. She turned her attention back to Voldemort; she was getting annoyed with his intrusion into her personal battle with Harry.
Once she assured herself that Snape was able to fight she launched herself at Voldemort. Spells from both sides hit her as she closed on him, but she ignored the wounds in her face and flanks. Just as her teeth snapped down on the space Voldemort’s body should be, he apparated. Her teeth made a mighty snap, and the infuriated roar she released made all the mages stop. They watched her carefully, wondering if they had won one battle just to lose London anyway. She was the unknown in the current situation.
She looked for Harry, only to find him unconscious under a bit of rubble. He had a deep wound to the shoulder and a cut on his forehead. The dark energy had dissipated, and he had been left helpless just when he needed it most. The magic he’d chosen was fickle. She growled impatiently and pushed at him with a claw, careful not to wound him. There was no honor in punishing an unconscious foe. When he made no response, she shoved him a bit harder and waited.
She gave him a disgusted look and decided to save that particular battle for a time when he was able to fight properly. It was one thing to attack him when he was tired; it was quite another to kill him when he was unconscious. She wanted the satisfaction of drawing the battle out and letting him understand he was going to die. And now that she had a bit of time to calm down, she realized she didn’t want to fight among so many humans. There would be time to find a more appropriate battle ground.
She took her human form and began to help heal the wounded. For such tasks, hands were much more useful than claws. Silence settled over the humans that were still conscious, and all of them were nervous around her. When she approached McGonagall, she was glad that the Headmistress didn’t seem to fear her. McGonagall viewed the dragon as a friend.
Drakia flat refused to heal Harry, which angered McGonagall and Mad Eye.
Mad Eye just grumbled about it - being angry at Harry himself – but McGonagall was never one to be short with words.
“He fought beside us just as much as you did!” she said.
“He’s nothing to me now – less than nothing, really. The only reason he’s not dead right now is I want him to see my teeth up close before he dies.”
“Dumbledore would be so disappointed,” McGonagall said, feeling justified in using a bit of guilt to motivate the woman.
“You’re crossing a line, Minerva. Dumbledore knew exactly what I am, and he wasn’t bothered by it anymore than I am. Don’t expect me to be Gryffindor, and I won’t expect you to be serpentine.”
She found Snape sitting on the floor beside Madam Hooch, healing her badly broken leg. He was trying to hide his weakened state, but Drakia noticed that when he moved about to work on his patient his legs seemed to drag. He didn’t stand but moved about the floor as if he was moving from patient to patient purposely. She wondered if his legs worked at all.
She stepped in and finished the healing. “Can you walk?” she asked quietly.
He hesitated, not wanting to let even Drakia know that he wasn’t in full control of his body. He needed to get out of here though, and need overwhelmed his natural distrust of people offering him “help”.
“Something’s wrong with my legs,” he said, making sure no one else heard him but Drakia. He wanted to get back to his potions ingredients and begin making something to help his damaged nerves. He was just relieved that he was only partially paralyzed. He couldn’t help but think of patients he’d seen in St. Mungo’s suffering from Cruciatus Catatonia and shudder.
She started to heal him, but he stopped her. “Not here. I don’t want them to know. Let’s get back to the school.”
She put her arm around him and they apparated. The humans could handle their own problems, she decided.
They landed in her quarters, and she began to heal his legs. When she was finished, she leaned back and cracked her back. She was visibly exhausted. “How’s that?” she asked.
Snape tried to move his legs. They moved some, but still weren’t responding like they should. “At least they work a bit. Probably nerve damage. I know a few potions that will help with that. I might not get full mobility back for some time, but right now I’m more worried about being able to fight.”
He had Drakia bring him a Quiddich broom and transformed it into a flying chair. It was a bit prickly, having been partly broom, but it would work. He couldn’t keep the students from seeing his disability, but he had to get to work. He felt sure that Voldemort would return, and he needed to be able to help protect the school when that happened.
With all the fuss over the attack and his preoccupation with the potion he was preparing, it was almost a full day before the gravity of the situation fully settled in for him. He’d seen amimagi before. No wizard could pull off a spell of that magnitude, not even Merlin.
He was engaged to a dragon. Not good. Not good at all.
He also had the “pleasure” of attending to animals and fey creatures that had been hurt in the various Death Eater uprisings all over Europe. They straggled into the forest with broken limbs and cursed bodies, seeking help from the Green Lady. She set up a sort of hospital for them near the island where Draco's parents lived, and she set Draco to healing the less injured creatures while she attended to the more serious wounds and curses.
Draco found himself using magic spells he’d never learned, or cared to learn. He could have cared less if a few rabbits and pixies died, but the Green Lady took every field mouse's death as if the beast were her own kin.
“Can we call it a night?” he asked her, wiping sweat from his forehead. There was no answer. He turned to repeat himself, and saw her holding a dead falcon.
Shimmering tears ran down her face, and she looked hundreds of years old.
“Go to your parents, Vel. I'll finish up here,” she said tiredly. He knew she needed help with the healings, but he felt no compulsion to help her. He wasn't exactly there of his own choosing, after all. He felt a deep distaste for her as he left.
He hadn't seen his parents since he'd brought them to their new home. The Green Lady had kept him too busy, and she had told him to sleep wherever he finished for the night. He had tried to argue with her a few times, but she had no patience with him. She would simply force pain through his Mark, ending the discussion.
Lucius was looking much better. Except for his thinness and the new wrinkles across his brow, he might have been the old Lucius that Draco knew. Draco smiled when he saw his family, but his mother looked concerned. She took his arm and peered at it in the twilight.
“Draco dear, when did you turn green?”
His arm did have a distincly greenish cast to it. “I don't know, exactly. It seems like whenever She uses me I turn a little greener.” He shrugged.
“There’s nothing to be done about it. Sometimes She actually makes me miss the Dark Lord.”
Lucius' eye twitched. “This isn't right; I'll talk to her when I see her. There must be something she wants. We'll find some way to buy you back from her.”
Draco felt a bit of pity. Lucius really didn't get it. “She doesn't think like us. She only cares about fey things. I don't think care is even the right word. I feel her thoughts sometimes, and they just aren't like ours. It's like trying to negotiate with a tree.”
Narcissa put on a smile for her son, although it looked a bit strained. “The centaurs left us some squash stew. Have some with us.”
They sat and ate in comfortable silence, and he bedded down on a nice pile of vines that seemed to have grown into a bed shape just for him. He didn't know when he'd slept so well. He had exhausted himself running errands for his mistress, and he wondered if he would ever be free of her.
The following morning, Narcissa decided to help her son a bit. They may have to live in the woods, but that didn't mean they should give up proper grooming habits. She plucked at a small twig that was sticking out of his hair, and was surprised when Draco yelled and clutched his head.
“Mother, what are you doing? Stop trying to pull my hair out!”
“There's a twig stuck there darling – a few twigs actually. Let me get them out.” She used her fingers to carefully pull apart the tangled white hair to find that the twigs were actually attached to his scalp, and seemed to have roots reaching down into his head.
When she told Draco, he panicked. He slapped his Mark hard, trying to put a forceful calling into it. He paced impatiently for an hour or so before She arrived.
“What have you done to me? What is this?” he asked, pointing to the twigs. She looked at his head, but was obviously reluctant to touch him. She shrugged disinterestedly.
“I've never taken a human servent before. Your skin is green, too.” She lifted his chin to look in his eyes and laughed. “You're becoming fey, little one.” She wiped her hand on her dress, as if touching him left her soiled.
Lucius was furious. “Now see here! Draco doesn't want to be fey! You can't do this to him.”
“Actually, I'm not doing this to him. The green magic I placed into him is mutating him, or at least that's what I think is happening. I don't generally pay enough attention to humans to know how your bodies react. You are sadly frail beings. I lose interest in your angst, Vel. I have other things to do, so you'll have to deal with your problems on your own.” With that she apparated away, leaving the Malfoys stunned and uncomfortable.
She didn’t call Draco for the rest of the day, so he had some time to spend with his parents. He noticed that Lucius didn't quite want to meet his eyes now, as if he was uncomfortable with Draco’s problem. Narcissa's own eyes were bloodshot from crying, and Draco was almost relieved when She called him to Herself again.
Xxxx
Severus waited impatiently for Drakia at the teachers' lounge. She had been acting oddly lately, and she had been occasionally skipping their lounge times. He was torn between the need to see her again and his natural repulsion at the thought of needing anyone else. When she finally arrived a half-hour late, he was more concerned than angry when he saw her pale skin and flushed cheeks.
“Are you feeling well, Drakia? You look a little feverish.” The Slytherin side of him hoped whatever she had wasn't catching. He was surprised, however, at a genuine concern for her.
“Just a little tired, Sev. I need to get out more.”
He didn't really liked being called Sev, but from her he allowed it. She at least had the good sense to only do it in private.
He sat his papers aside. He might not know a lot about women, but he knew they liked attention, and he wanted to keep this one. She was not only beautiful, but powerful as well. He couldn't help but think that she would be a great asset to his family line. He realized he hadn't tried to find out if she was a pureblood yet, and was surprised to find out he didn't really care. The side of himself he was discovering was turning out to be more troublesome than anything. He liked knowing he wasn’t destined to be evil, but he still resonated more with Slytherin philosophy than with Griffindor thinking. It bothered him that new types of thoughts continually intruded. It also bothered him that he was beginning to enjoy giving in to those impulses occasionally. With Drakia, however, he didn’t mind so much.
That was how he'd been since Drakia healed him. It almost seemed as if a Slytherin and a Griffindor were in his head battling for control. Some days he felt as if it would tear him apart.
“Would a walk around Hogsmeade help you feel better?” he asked, hoping she would turn him down. It was a necessary show of concern, but he had papers to grade and a detention he really didn't want to reasign.
“No,” she said listlessly, and he noticed that she was looking out the window toward the forest.
He turned back to his papers; apparently she didn't really want to talk.
“Did you ever just need to fly?” she asked quietly.
“What? Don't tell me you're the Quiddich type and I'm just now finding out.”
She seemed jolted out of a revery. “Oh, nothing. Sorry, I was just thinking out loud.”
They spent the rest of the study hall in silence. He found himself wondering how he should properly ask her to marry him. It would be best to get her before Potter found a way to steal her for himself. He couldn’t stand the thought of Potter’s hands on his Drakia.
Xxxxx
The Weasleys' relief at their daughter's recovery was short-lived. Ginny didn’t act like herself, quarreling with her brothers and parents over everything, and she left only a couple days after she arrived. Molly got word from Fred that she had quit going to school and hadn't been seen since.
Ron tromped down the stairs, and Molly frowned at him. “Ronald dear, you could at least shave. You look like a tramp.”
He grumbled something and rumbled around in the fridge for leftovers.
“Any word?” she asked, crossing her fingers behind her back.
“Nothing,” he said around a mouthful of egg salad. “It's like she fell off the edge of the map. I checked the stores, the beauty parlors, everywhere I know she likes. I thought I saw her once last night, but it must have been someone else.
Molly felt a sudden surge of hope. “Where, Ronald?”
He shook his head. “There's no way Gin would be hanging around Knockturn Alley, mom. As I was passing by, I could have sworn I saw her in the shadows. I tried to follow, but whoever it was disappeared.”
Hermoine apparated into the room and hugged Molly.
“At least some good came out of all this,” Molly said. She wiped a few tears from her eyes. “I'm glad to have you back dear.” She left the room to give them some privacy.
Xxxxx
Just before Christmas, a new scene graced the castle. As McGonagall was doing her nightly rounds, a huge shadow fell over her. She looked up to see the siloutte of a dragon between herself and the moon. She recognized Drakia, and stayed for a few minutes to watch her gracefull acrobatics. She felt safer knowing a dragon animagus soared above Hogwarts.
Severus was always a bit startled when the green and silver decorations suddenly sprung up in the Slytherin common room. It almost seemed as if Christmas snuck up on him every year, what with the hectic schedule he always kept. This year was special though. This was going to be the year he humiliated Potter in front of the entire wizarding world.
He had been looking forward to the battle all semester. He had expected Drakia to try to talk him out of it, but she had simply said, “I'm not a Gryffindor, so I won't make useless emotional gestures. Please don't actually kill him though. We do need him when we finally find Voldemort. I think roughing him up a bit should be enough for whatever male ego battle you two are fighting.” After that she pretended the duel wasn’t happening.
Severus spent the first part of the day with Drakia, opening the first present he had received since Albus had died. He didn't miss Albus' yearly offering of brightly colored socks, but he did miss the gesture. Drakia gave him a handsome firewisky decanter, with a pewter dragon circling the bottom. He gave her an engagement ring, which she accepted.
Once the necessities were out of the way, he left with the excuse of being tired. He really needed to prepare for the next day's duel. He spent the rest of the day practicing spells and curses.
That night he had tortured dreams of Albus. He awoke to see the ghost of the former Headmaster floating near the baseboard of his bead. “Please Severus,” he begged with tears running down into his beard. “Don't do this. Please.”
How could he say no? He had rarely been able to tell Albus no in life, and he still couldn't tell him no in death. “I won't kill him, Albus – for you.”
The ghost shook his head. “Don't do this battle, Severus. I'll never rest easy if you two duel to the death – and it will be to the death. Neither of you do anything partway.”
Severus was about to protest that he could beat Potter without killing him, but he realized that Albus was right. It just wasn't in him to back down. If he dueled Potter he would kill or be killed; there was no other way. Dumbledore's ghost just floated, waiting for an answer.
“I promise. I won't duel him. I do hope you realize you cost me an extreme amount of embarrassment.”
The ghost smiled and wiped his face with his sleeve. “Thank you Severus.” He disappeared, and Snape spent the rest of the night searching for a way to turn the deteriorating situation to his advantage.
When they arrived at the dueling arena, he was surprised at the number of wizard and witches gathered to support their chosen duelist. They carried signs with his or Harry’s picture. Various women shouted proposals at both of them. There was a festival atmosphere, and while on one level he appreciated the attention, on another level he was disgusted with their shallowness.
Snape and Harry stood on the stage, with their seconds close by. The brat had taken the chance to visit the best tailors, and he wore the trendiest dueling gloves of kid skin, along with red robes with real gold thread woven into them. The announcer approached and used an amplification spell so the croud could hear them.
“Witches and wizards and mages of all ages, we have here for your amazement and amusement two of the most powerful wizards of our time - the two wizards responsible for You-Know-Who's downfall. These two wizards, the cornerstones of Hogwart's power, the masters of secrets unknown to other men, the ablest and most powerfull...”
Snape quit listening to his drabble and focused on his strategy. Pulling this off would mark him as one of England's noblest wizards. If he couldn’t have a physical victory, he’d settle for a political victory, which would add another notch to his belt. If he failed he would look like a coward.
The announcer moved to Harry. “Professor Potter. Do you have any words before this historic event?”
Harry grinned and looked over the crowd. He searched until his eyes met Drakia's. “I would like to dedicate this victory to the most beautiful enchantress, Drakia. Madam,” he said, and bowed elegantly in her direction.
The crowd gasped along with Drakia, who wasn't pleased. A murmer went through the crowd. Despite McGonagall's promise, Snape had been in the tabloids frequently, and his romance with Drakia was followed almost as faithfully as the royal romances and scandals.
Snape was furious with Potter’s audacity, but happy with the boy’s naivity. What the brat had done worked in his favor. The crowd was almost entirely for him now. When the announcer turned to him, he played his rehearsed part well. He figured if he was going to be forced to look foolish for the sake of the old man, he was going to milk this situation for all it was worth. He was Head of Slytherin house again, after all. He had a reputation to uphold.
“I would like to take this opportunity to formally appologize to Professor Potter for the rudeness I displayed to him earlier this semester. I have decided that it ill befits the memory of Albus Dumbledore, our mutaul friend and mentor, to have two of his closest friends try to kill each other.”
He extended a hand toward Potter. “Please Harry, for the sake of Albus, let's end this.” He smiled as charmingly as he could manage with the bad teeth, and he held his hand toward Harry for about half a minute while the crowd cheered wildly. Harry turned red and shook with anger. Finally Snape shook his head in a parody of sadness and turned to walk away, hiding the secret joy he felt. He had won. He had to fight hard to keep from smirking.
As he turned, he saw Drakia’s face, smiling proudly at what she saw as his nobility of spirit. He felt a quick twinge of guilt, which he set aside. He reasoned that even if he had made her happy with a dishonest act, she was happy; that was what mattered. A happy powerful fiancée was a placated fiancée. As he watched, the expression on her face changed to confusion, and then horrified shock.
Snape had underestimated Harry once again, perhaps for the last time. He realized what was happening behind him too late to duck the curse. He heard Potter’s voice shouting, “Crucio!” and fell, unable to defend himself.
In the split second before the pain hit, he had time to fully understand his folly. Snape was one of the fastest dueling masters in history, and even with a shot from behind Potter shouldn’t have been able to best him. As he turned he saw that Potter’s hand was covered by what seemed to be a black mist. Snape had seen that mist before. It was extremely strong dark magic, guaranteed to give a mage unbelievable speed, but at the cost of a thestral colt’s life, and other more diabolical deeds. Potter in his rage had revealed himself to the world as a Dark Wizard.
At first Snape wasn’t worried, because he’d been through this curse before - under bullies at school and then later under Voldemort. He’s actually built up a small tolerance to the mental effects. As the curse grew in strength though, he realized that it was different from any pain he’d ever felt in his life. The previous casters had been idle bullies, or sadists. They were just playing compared to the anger and rage he felt from Potter. This was the most personal casting of the Cruciatus curse he’d ever felt. Voldemort hadn’t hated him; he had merely chastised him like a bad dog. Potter was pouring all the hate of his emo life into this one spell.
Pain slowed time to a crawl, and he noticed the official dueling clock over Potter’s shoulder. An hour of pain went by, and the second hand moved once. Panic laced through him. A second? It was generally several minutes before a Cruciatus victim lost him mind, and that seemed like an eternity to him. The scientific part of his brain felt that it was too bad he wouldn’t be able to write about the experience; he’d be too crazy.
The next hour/second passed in waves, and he felt Potter fine tuning the curse just for him, playing his nerves like a harp. The third hour/second of pain had just started, and he was trying unsuccessfully to move any appendage at all, when he heard a great roar behind him.
Snape watched helplessly, unable to move enough to take advantage of the distraction Drakia created as she launched her full dragon-form over the stage at Harry. Fortunately, it was an open stadium, or the great dragon wouldn’t have fit in the building.
A giant scarred claw descended upon Harry, forcing him to break the curse and jump backward just before Drakia smashed the stage where he had been standing. She threw a massive wing over Severus to shield him from the splinters and any further magic assault Harry might send at him. She set free a full roar in Harry’s direction, but he’d spent enough time with the Weasleys to get a bit of dragon lore from their most adventurous son. The dragon roar was just a scare tactic, and so lost its advantage on Harry. What did scare him though, was what she did next. He watched in horror as a massive ball of pure magic began to form in front of her open mouth, growing in size and intensity until its blue glow eclipsed everything around it.
Pandemonium ensued around the massive beast, as many wizards tried to flee, and some of the bravest wizards threw curses at Drakia. Their desire to avoid destruction in the very heart of London made them ineffective. They couldn’t use their most powerful spells, or they might cause collateral damage. McGonagall climbed onto the stage, severely dwarfed by the dragon, but determined to do her part to stop the catastrophe about to happen. She’d never seen this type of attack before, but she estimated that if Drakia released pure concentrated magic as a ranged attack she’d level at least half of London. It would be the magical equivalent of a muggle atomic bomb.
Drakia’s tail whipped down and smashed more of the stage, sending great shards flying. Madam Hooch, master of all things flying, had little trouble snatching the splinters and logs out of the air with bits of magic, rendering them harmless.
McGonagall used a megaphone spell to try to reach the enraged serpent. “Drakia, don’t do it!” she bellowed. “Too many people will die.”
The dragon’s power continued to form and grow, and she didn’t acknowledge McGonagall’s presence. The headmistress had an odd realization; the people who had stayed were among the bravest and strongest fighters the English magic world had to offer. If they all died here, only the cowards who ran and left London to destruction would be left to carry the magic world forward.
She heard various curses and spells being fired off around her: defensive spells, offensive spells, whatever people could think of. They simply bounced off the creature. The only spell that seemed to even faze her was Molly Weasley’s attempt to use a scrubbing spell that was reserved for her most stubborn pots. She put a great deal of power into it, but was only able to cause a small wound on Drakia’s shoulder about four feet wide. It wasn’t enough to stop Drakia’s concentration on her spell, but it did shower down a small stream of acidic blood, sending the mages scuttling away from the hissing shower that added the stench of burnt wood and flesh to the scene.
A massive “pop” of a large group of wizards apparating into the room finally caught Drakia’s attention.
Voldemort and his henchmen stood, their jaws gaping at the scene before them. There were a few of the old guard, but most of the Death-eaters were young men.
Voldemort quickly regained his composure and threw a death curse at Harry, who dodged it neatly. Harry forgot his fight with Drakia and threw himself into the new battle just as furiously as he had attacked Snape.
Drakia allowed the magic building up before her to dissipate so she could deal with the new danger. She stuck to ranged attacks so she could keep her massive wing over Snape, who was still stunned from the curse. It hampered her though. The Death-eaters only had to stay out of the reach of her claws, and now that she’d calmed down a bit after Harry’s attack on Snape she saw the danger of ranged attacks in a place filled with enemies and allies. She sent a few startlingly accurate attacks at the death eaters, but she had to painstakingly aim at - what were for her – very small targets.
Everyone was amazed at Harry’s unsuspected strength and speed. He moved around the other wizards, so much faster than them it almost seemed as if he was flying. The dark energy buzzed around him, aiding and – although he didn’t know at the time – corrupting him. He kept many of the mages from death, zipping in and pushing them out of the way of curses. He finally seemed to have remembered whose side he was on. Once he even stopped a large piece of the wall from falling on Mad Eye by catching it and shoving it aside in a show of inhuman strength. Mad Eye spared him a distrustful look before leaping back into battle.
Everyone fought as hard as they could, but many of the mages had already used a great deal of energy trying to stop Drakia. In the end, Voldemort was left with only two Death-eaters. They were young men that had just graduated Hogwarts with poor grades. They needed to make a name for themselves, and Voldemort had been only too happy to oblige. The only reason they were still alive is because the more experienced Death-eaters drew the aggression from the mages.
There was a brief pause in battle as the wounded were dragged out. The Death-eaters cringed behind Voldemort, wands shaking in front of them. Drakia roared, angered further by her inability to reach them.
McGonagall spoke. “You’re obviously outnumbered. Why don’t you turn yourselves in? I’m sure the authorities will understand that you boys were manipulated.” They wouldn’t understand at all, but she hoped the boys were too panicked to think the situation through.
One of the boys lowered his wand slightly. McGonagall could see that he’d been crying. His mask had fallen off in the fight and she could see his frightened face clearly. She couldn’t quite recall his name. What was it? Henry, Helly, Herbie? That was it – Herbie.
“Herbie Henworth, isn’t it?”
The boy nodded and pushed some sweat-slicked hair from his face.
“Come here, Herbie. This doesn’t have to end like this.” She saw indecision on his face. He was probably wondering is a lifetime in Azkaban was better than death in a battle he didn’t even care about any more.
Herbie dropped his wand and made a move toward her. Just as he moved in front of Voldemort, the old wizard grabbed him from behind. He wrapped an arm around Herbie’s neck and pulled him backward toward an overturned bench. He used the now screaming boy as a human shield while he threw curse after curse at the defenders. Herbie died quickly, but not before he saw his “friend” run toward the door full speed. In the confusion, the traitor actually managed to escape. Herbie was left alone with Voldemort and his enemies - dying and unwanted.
Voldemort threw Herbie’s body toward the defenders just as he dived behind his make-shift bunker. He quickly cast a powerful spell on the broken bench that transfigured it into a concrete barrier. Chips of stone flew off in all directions from the mages’ frustrated attacks, but Voldemort was able to gather himself and assess the situation.
Snape recovered from Harry’s curse enough to struggle out from under Drakia’s wing. He was unable to move his legs properly. They tingled and didn’t respond to his commands. He settled for shooting curses from a sitting position on what was left of the stage.
Drakia was surprised Snape had recovered at all. Most wizards would have been rendered unconscious by a spell half as vicious as Harry’s Cruciatus. Remembering the spell made her half-spent fury reassert itself, and she decided when this battle was over she’d kill Harry before he had a chance to rebuild his strength or flee. She turned her attention back to Voldemort; she was getting annoyed with his intrusion into her personal battle with Harry.
Once she assured herself that Snape was able to fight she launched herself at Voldemort. Spells from both sides hit her as she closed on him, but she ignored the wounds in her face and flanks. Just as her teeth snapped down on the space Voldemort’s body should be, he apparated. Her teeth made a mighty snap, and the infuriated roar she released made all the mages stop. They watched her carefully, wondering if they had won one battle just to lose London anyway. She was the unknown in the current situation.
She looked for Harry, only to find him unconscious under a bit of rubble. He had a deep wound to the shoulder and a cut on his forehead. The dark energy had dissipated, and he had been left helpless just when he needed it most. The magic he’d chosen was fickle. She growled impatiently and pushed at him with a claw, careful not to wound him. There was no honor in punishing an unconscious foe. When he made no response, she shoved him a bit harder and waited.
She gave him a disgusted look and decided to save that particular battle for a time when he was able to fight properly. It was one thing to attack him when he was tired; it was quite another to kill him when he was unconscious. She wanted the satisfaction of drawing the battle out and letting him understand he was going to die. And now that she had a bit of time to calm down, she realized she didn’t want to fight among so many humans. There would be time to find a more appropriate battle ground.
She took her human form and began to help heal the wounded. For such tasks, hands were much more useful than claws. Silence settled over the humans that were still conscious, and all of them were nervous around her. When she approached McGonagall, she was glad that the Headmistress didn’t seem to fear her. McGonagall viewed the dragon as a friend.
Drakia flat refused to heal Harry, which angered McGonagall and Mad Eye.
Mad Eye just grumbled about it - being angry at Harry himself – but McGonagall was never one to be short with words.
“He fought beside us just as much as you did!” she said.
“He’s nothing to me now – less than nothing, really. The only reason he’s not dead right now is I want him to see my teeth up close before he dies.”
“Dumbledore would be so disappointed,” McGonagall said, feeling justified in using a bit of guilt to motivate the woman.
“You’re crossing a line, Minerva. Dumbledore knew exactly what I am, and he wasn’t bothered by it anymore than I am. Don’t expect me to be Gryffindor, and I won’t expect you to be serpentine.”
She found Snape sitting on the floor beside Madam Hooch, healing her badly broken leg. He was trying to hide his weakened state, but Drakia noticed that when he moved about to work on his patient his legs seemed to drag. He didn’t stand but moved about the floor as if he was moving from patient to patient purposely. She wondered if his legs worked at all.
She stepped in and finished the healing. “Can you walk?” she asked quietly.
He hesitated, not wanting to let even Drakia know that he wasn’t in full control of his body. He needed to get out of here though, and need overwhelmed his natural distrust of people offering him “help”.
“Something’s wrong with my legs,” he said, making sure no one else heard him but Drakia. He wanted to get back to his potions ingredients and begin making something to help his damaged nerves. He was just relieved that he was only partially paralyzed. He couldn’t help but think of patients he’d seen in St. Mungo’s suffering from Cruciatus Catatonia and shudder.
She started to heal him, but he stopped her. “Not here. I don’t want them to know. Let’s get back to the school.”
She put her arm around him and they apparated. The humans could handle their own problems, she decided.
They landed in her quarters, and she began to heal his legs. When she was finished, she leaned back and cracked her back. She was visibly exhausted. “How’s that?” she asked.
Snape tried to move his legs. They moved some, but still weren’t responding like they should. “At least they work a bit. Probably nerve damage. I know a few potions that will help with that. I might not get full mobility back for some time, but right now I’m more worried about being able to fight.”
He had Drakia bring him a Quiddich broom and transformed it into a flying chair. It was a bit prickly, having been partly broom, but it would work. He couldn’t keep the students from seeing his disability, but he had to get to work. He felt sure that Voldemort would return, and he needed to be able to help protect the school when that happened.
With all the fuss over the attack and his preoccupation with the potion he was preparing, it was almost a full day before the gravity of the situation fully settled in for him. He’d seen amimagi before. No wizard could pull off a spell of that magnitude, not even Merlin.
He was engaged to a dragon. Not good. Not good at all.