Chronicle of Scales: Dragkyn Rising

    “I can’t believe Snape is a Death Eater!”

    “We know, Ron, you’ve only said it about a dozen times since we’ve gotten out of class.”

    “But, what can Lupin be thinking? The Death Eaters were insane, every last one of them! Murderers! Rapists!”

    “And you’ve asked that a dozen times already, too!”

    Harry sighed and tilted his head back, basking in the warm afternoon sun as he tried to filter out the bickering going back and forth with him caught in the middle. Ron and Hermione had gone from two steps shy of getting married to two steps shy of getting a divorce in less time than it had taken Harry to blink. He had chosen to stay out of the argument, mostly because he could easily understand both sides.

    On one hand, Hermione was absolutely correct. After his dramatic reveal, Snape had launched right into a lesson on the most basic hexes and their counter curses, demonstrating several of them on animated clay golems. He had been attentive and never turned down a question. He didn’t give out points as freely as some of the other teachers had, making it clear he would hold them to a higher standard, but at the same time he was patient, and willing to let those he called upon puzzle out the answers for themselves. Harry would have expected the ex-Death Eater to act like some sort of petty dictator, an expectation that was proven to be quite wrong.

    Yet, Ron had a point as well. The man was a Death Eater. Hagrid had told him that most of the Death Eaters had been rounded up or chased off, save for those who had powerful friends that could make the charges go away. But who could possibly have done that for Snape? The more Harry thought about it, the more he realized it was likely to be the same person who had Snape the job at the school. But at the same time, Lupin had claimed that Snape was an Auror. Had he been a spy during the war? Or had he just turned his coat  in time to join the winning side?

    It hadn’t helped that Harry had felt like his was choking in the middle of a noxious swamp every time Snape had drawn near to him, a reaction that no one else, not even Neville, seemed to share. Was it because Harry was a dragkyn? . Every time their eyes had met, Harry had expected another bolt of pain like the one he had felt that first night at the feast, but it never came. But then why was Neville not affected? And if it was because of Snape, then why was the rest of the class seemingly oblivious? Just being around the man was extremely unsettling. Worse, Snape had made a point of hovering over Harry throughout most of the class, like a wolf who was unsure if the fawn in the middle of the meadow was meant to be an easy dinner or a dangerous trap. By the end of class, Harry was more than happy to just grab his books and leave.

    Fortunately, their next class had been flying lessons with Madam Hooch. Just being outside had helped relieve Harry of much of his unease. Summer was stubbornly defying the calendar, and the air was warm with a pleasant breeze. Something deep in his bones told him that it was a perfect day for flying.

    The wind caressed Harry’s face as he stood looking up towards the sun. He could feel something deep inside of him beginning to stir in response to the wind’s touch. His skin began to prickle and itch, but in an oddly good way. A tightness began to build in the middle of his back, just between his shoulders, but it disappeared almost as quickly as it came. Definitely a perfect day for flying.

    Even if they did have to share the lesson with the Slytherins.

    Harry sighed and let his shoulders sag as Draco and his cronies approached. He hadn’t even had to open his eyes to know they were on their way, as the intense loathing he had felt for Draco ever since their first encounter at Madam Malkin’s was quick to alert the young wizard that trouble was on the way.

    “Well, well, what do we have here, boys?” Draco sneered as he approached, flanked by two of his goons.

    “Go away, Draco.” Harry’s reply was completely devoid of tone, and he didn’t even bother opening his eyes. He was afraid that if he could see the other boy, then he would also know where to punch.

    “Or what, you’ll make me?” Draco taunted. He stepped up well within Hermione’s space and took a deep breath before turning to his two compatriots. “Mmm, the little witch smells good. What do you think boys, up for a little roll in the mud?”

    “Back off, Malfoy!” Ron snarled as he tried to force his way between Draco and Hermione. He took two steps before one of Draco’s goons shoved him back.

    “Back off yourself, Weasley!”

    Harry finally opened his eyes and took a good look at the three Slytherins. The boy to Draco’s left left was tall and thin to the point of being skeletal. He was even paler than Draco, if such a thing was possible, and his hair had been shorn down to stubble. He looked like someone had dug up a corpse and held it under a heat lamp long enough to get up and shamble off on its own. The boy on the right, the one who had shoved Ron, however, reminded Harry quite a bit of Dudley, had Dudley ever bothered to exercise. He was about the same height as Draco, perhaps a little shorter, but wide enough that Harry suspected he occasionally had to turn sideways to fit through narrow doors. But where Dudley had been all fat, this boy was all muscle, to the point where Harry wondered if steroids or their magical equivalent might not have been involved at some point. The boy on the left had a long, sharply hooked nose, like the beak of a hawk, while the boy on the left, who never would have been much of a looker in the first place, had a rather squashed look to his face, and it appeared that his nose had been broken many times over and never properly set. Odd, considering the healing talents Harry knew to be available to wizards.

    More importantly, neither gave any sort of aura that Harry had come to associate with dragkyns and other half-bloods.

    By then the other students had started to gather around them, murmuring predictions and yelling the occasional suggestion. It was all just noise to Harry. The blood began to thunder in his ears as the world narrowed down to the space immediately in front of him. ‘Zombie boy isn’t a  threat. Two, maybe three blows to take him out. Steroids is another matter. He can probably take a beating - looks like he has before. And if he can take a beating, he can probably dish one out. He’s probably as bad as some of Dudley’s stronger goons at the least. Have to take him out fast. That just leaves the Black.’

    Harry shuddered and clenched his fists. He wasn’t sure where, exactly, those thoughts had come from, but from the way his mind had half-growled them he had a good idea. He wanted to listen, Merlin did he! But at the same time the rational side of his mind couldn’t help remind him that he was at school, and there were always punishments for fighting at school. Detention at the least, but how many times he had been threatened with expulsion for standing up for himself against Dudley’s friends? Hogwarts was the best thing to ever happen to him, and Harry didn’t want to find himself getting kicked out for fighting, not so soon. Hagrid had made it clear that Draco’s father had clout. Enough to get Harry kicked out for a fist fight? Best to not find out.

    “Did your father have to hire babysitters after the last time I thumped you?” Harry spat. He forced himself to keep his hands at his sides, to not take a step closer to Draco. He had to make sure that no one could accuse him of starting the fight. ‘Where is Madam Hooch?’

    “I told you I was going to rule this school!” Draco laughed. He clapped the zombie on the shoulder. “This here is Crabbe, and his friend teaching your pet Weasel his place is Goyle. They are what you might call…retainers.”

    “I might say that you’re too much a coward to pick your own fights, Malfoy.” Harry’s eyes turned hard as he glared at the shorter dragkyn. He got a small sense of satisfaction from the fact that Malfoy looked away first.

    “It doesn’t matter what you say!” Draco snarled. His cheeks turned red, adding a disturbing sense of color to his pallor. Before anyone could stop him, his hand lashed out and seized the small gold chain hanging around Hermione’s neck. She howled in surprised pain as he yanked hard, then the thin links snapped leaving him holding the small locket dangling at the end of the chain. The world seemed freeze for a moment as everyone’s mind refused to process what had just happened.

    Then all hell broke loose.

    Draco recovered first, immediately lunging for a nearby broom. A snap of his fingers called it up from the ground and into his free hand. Ron let out a shout of rage, only half a step behind Draco, but Goyle was quick to cut off his attack. Goyle’s fist slammed into Ron’s belly, doubling the smaller boy over. As Ron collapsed into a wheezing mess, Hermione launched herself on to Goyle’s back and began to pummel him with a barrage of slaps to the side of his head. The goon stumbled as struck his ear over and over, utterly screwing his sense of balance.

    Crabbe and Harry stared at each other for the space of a heartbeat before Harry, too, lunged for a nearby broom while Crabbe leapt to stop him. Harry had long experience with that sort of game however, and twisted out of the way at the last minute, allowing the taller boy to eat a face full of dirt. Harry didn’t have Malfoy’s experience with brooms, and didn’t know how to call it to his hand the way the other dragkyn did. Instead he wasted precious seconds scooping it off the ground before leaping astride it and kicking off from the ground.

    The wind howled in Harry’s ears as the broom shot into the sky. He could see Malfoy zig-zagging back and forth, both trying to avoid pursuit and keep an eye  on the ground at the same time. Malfoy froze when he saw Harry racing towards him, then turned his broom and blasted off towards the castle. Harry’s grip tightened on the handle of his broom and he leaned into the wind as he silently urged his wooden steed to greater speeds.

    Both brooms were the same model, decades old Cleansweep 5s. Both were battered and beaten through years of misuse at the hands of first year students, and both had undergone numerous repairs to keep them in functional shape. By all reckoning that meant they should have been capable of roughly the same maximum speed. And yet…Harry gained.

    It was the advantage of being the hunter, rather than the hunted. It was obvious that Malfoy hadn’t intended for things to escalate the way they had, and his attempt at escape was as scatterbrained as his attempt at intimidating Harry had been. He steered his broom as close to the castle as he dared, but it as all knew territory to him. He hoped to lose Harry amid the sharp turns, narrow arches, and steep dives required to navigate between the castle’s towers, but all too often he was himself forced to slow down in order to avoid crashing into a wall or avoid an unexpected obstacle. All Harry had to do was make sure he stayed in the center of the path Draco was flying, learning from each distance-consuming mistake Draco made.

    They whipped past Gryffindor tower so quickly that Harry missed the shocked face of Professor McGonagall standing at her office window with a cup of tea. They snaked through the bridge supports between two of the study towers, barely an arm span between each pillar, causing a pair of witches to throw their books out into the wild blue yonder in surprise. They dove past a pair of pixie-laden gargoyles, causing the startled fey to drop a fresh load of quano all over the spot Filch had just finished mopping.

    Draco swore as he looked back and saw Harry gaining on him. He pulled up, climbing for height, hoping to fright the novice flyer, but what was height to a dragon? Harry followed right along with him, until the air grew cold and the clouds hid the field below them. Short of breath and knowing that Harry was still right behind him, Draco tried the opposite trick, turning his broom straight down and diving as fast as he dared. But what was speed to a dragon? Harry laughed at the newest challenge and started his dive as soon as he realized Draco’s intentions.

    They plummeted towards the ground, each waiting to see who would chicken out first. In the end, it was Draco who broke. Despite all his wild stories of being chased by muggles in helicopters or playing tag with Pembleton Bolts, this was his first time flying so recklessly. Tears blurred his vision as the wind stung at his eyes, and he ground seemed so vast as it raced up to swat him from the sky. With a strangled shout he yanked on the broom, pulling it through a broad, flat U until it had properly leveled out.

    And still Harry was right there with him.

    “Give it back, Malfoy!” Harry yelled. By that time there was less than five feet between them, close enough that Harry could have knocked Draco from his broom if he so desired. They were hundreds of feet above the flying pitch, and if Harry had dared take his eyes off of Draco he would have been surprised by how tiny and ant-like everyone on the ground below appeared.

    “You want this?” Draco screamed. He panted for breath as he held up Hermione’s locket. “You want this? Then go get it!”

    The Slytherin cocked his arm back and hurled the necklace as far as from Harry as his flagging strength allowed. Harry immediately kicked his broom forward, nearly knocking Malfoy from his seat as he arrowed in on the tiny, glittering thing falling to the ground below. The chain spun round and round as the locket tumbled. Harry leaned as far out over his broom as he dared, stretching his fingers to catch the locket. He cried out in dismay as he felt the chain start to slip through his fingers, only for that same cry to turn victorious as the clasp caught between his knuckles and his hand wrapped tight about his prize.

    Then the broom was yanked out from underneath him.

    Harry’s eyes grew wide as he felt the broom handle slide out of his hand. He fell head over heels as forward momentum carried him in one direction, allowing him to watch as a laughing Crabbe flew off with the bristles of Harry’s broom clutched in one hand.

    ‘I am going to die,’ Harry realized as he spun back around to face the ground below. He was surprised how comfortable he was with that thought. He spread his arms and legs wide, the way he had seen jumpers do in the movie, and felt the wind push back against him. It wouldn’t be enough, not to save him from smashing into the grass below, grass so beautifully green that it almost hurt to look at it. He looked up at the sun, so cheerfully bright and pleasantly warm, the cloud so fluffy and white. It was almost as if his mind were forcing time to slow so it might better appreciate those last few moments, as if such a memory would do him any good in the grave.

    Harry heard the air rip by, his blood pounding in his ears, and opened his mouth and roared. He roared his defiance, he roared his pride, he roared so that the world might hear him one last time before it swallowed him for good. Then it wasn’t the sound of the wind ripping that he heard, but his shirt as it tore free of his back, unable to accommodate the wings that were suddenly there. Hot, scalding pain shot out across his shoulders, only to be replaced a moment later by a cold so deep that the air itself misted around him. Muscles pulled and  yanked as they rearranged themselves to better serve his new limbs, and then he was no longer falling, he was gliding, and then he was no longer gliding, he was flying. He was flying!

    Enormous silver wings beat at the air as Harry climbed back into the sky. He spun through the sunlight, letting it shine across his new wings, and the warmth only seemed to give him more energy. He dove and looped, twisted and turned, and flew for the sheer pleasure of it.

    He could hear shouting from the ground below, too far to properly make out the words, but enough to remind him of  why he had taken to the skies in the first place. A part of him wondered how he was supposed to land, but instinct made for a perfect guide. Air filled his wings as he began to glide in ever shrinking circles, until he was less than a dozen feet above the crowd. He began to backwing to slow himself, then dropped the last yard to land in a crouch before Hermione. He held up her locket. “Here, I believe this is yours.”

    Hermione threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips as relief flooded through her body. Ron was standing next to him, clapping him on the shoulder and trying to say something, but Harry couldn’t hear it over  the roar off the crowd. The Slytherins had all disappeared when Crabbe had stolen his broom, leaving only the Gryffindors to witness his fate. Harry was dizzy from the mix of emotions surrounding him, and all he could do was smile and nod as-

    “MR. POTTER!”

    Every last first year froze at the sound of McGonagall’s yell. That was the thing about McGonagall. No matter how angry she got, she never screamed, she yelled, a sound so terrible that it crept down into a person’s bones and rattled them from the inside. The crowd slowly parted to reveal her standing there, hands clasped behind her back as she glared at Harry.

    “Mr. Potter. Follow me.”

    Harry gulped and nodded. He made sure that Hermione had her necklace back, then followed McGonagall as she strode across the flying pitch. He stumbled every so often, unused to the weight of the wings now tucked against his back. The Transfiguration Professor did not care about his comfort or lack thereof, but marched relentlessly towards the Greenhouses, which, unfortunately for Harry, were on the completely far side of the castle. Once there, she motioned for Professor Sprout’s attention, and once she had it said, “Excuse me, Professor, but I need Mr. Wood for a moment.”

    Professor Sprout nodded and motioned to a sandy-haired young man who had tying back vines from a high hanging pot. The boy jogged over, frowning as he looked between Harry and McGonagall. He spoke with a pronounced Scottish accent. “Is everything all right then, Professor?”

    “Indeed they are, Mr. Wood,” Professor McGonagall said severely. She nodded towards Harry. “I have found you a Seeker for this year.”

    Wood frowned as he studied Harry. “A first year? I thought they weren’t allowed to join the teams. And besides, look at those wings! They’ll cause some terrible drag for him. I need somebody who can fly and fly fast.”

    “Exceptions can be made, Mr. Wood, and the Headmaster owes me several favors. Besides, I doubt that he’d even bother with such considering this request. As for the wings, I can assure you, they will not be a problem. Our next step is Madam Pomfrey, and I am quite sure that she can handle them.”

    Wood grimaced, but knew better than to argue with the Head of his House. “Well, all right then, I’ll give him a shot at practice on Friday. Will he have a broom, or will we need to provide him with one?”

    “This week he shall be provided one,” McGonagall answered. “After that, as I said, arrangements shall be made.”

    “All right then.” Wood gave her an unhappy nod. “May I return to class?”

    “Of course, Mr. Wood. Those bengalines will not bind themselves, after all!”

    As Wood turned to returned to his class, McGonagall seized Harry by the wrist, and then they were once  again on the march, this time towards the medical wing. Harry swallowed as he tried to imagine how exactly Madam Pomfrey was supposed to “handle” his wings. Finally, once they were in the medical wing waiting on the matronly witch, he worked up the courage to ask. “Excuse me, Professor?”

    “Yes, Harry.”

    “What is Madam Pomfrey going to do with my wings?”

    “Why, she’s going to get rid of them, of course.”

    Harry swallowed. His throat was suddenly exceedingly dry. “You mean she’s going to cut them off?”

    “Cut them off?” McGonagall looked at Harry quizzically. When she saw the fright plastered across Harry’s face, her own features softened. “Why on earth would you think that? No, wait, never mind. I keep forgetting you were raised by muggles. No, Harry, she will not be cutting them off of you. Even if she were, they would manifest again eventually. The wings are a manifestation of your dragkyn blood. Once you have learned to properly control your powers, you will be able to summon them and perform other, similar, transformations at will. In the meantime, however, Madam Pomfrey will provide you with a potion that will convince your body to reabsorb them on its own. I am given to understand that the process will take several hours, so I will be letting the rest of your teachers know that you are excused from class for the rest of the afternoon. If necessary, we will send dinner to you here.”

    Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “You mean…they’re not permanent?”

    McGonagall shook her head. “You are part dragon, but that does not mean that parts of you will be dragon, not unless you want it to be so. But young dragkyns such as yourself often have times controlling those powers initially, so several potions were developed to help the process along, as it were. Madam Pomfrey will be giving you several extra doses to take with you, just in case another outbreak occurs over the next few days. Now that you have undergone this initial transformation, I understand that the Headmaster will be arranging special classes to help you better understand and control your new abilities. So congratulations, Mr. Potter. You’re going to be getting extra homework.”

    Harry groaned and buried his head in the pillow of the bed he was sitting on.


*    *    *


    Madam Pomfrey arrived to deliver the potion as promised, at which point McGonagall disappeared to do her professorial duties. The nurse watched as Harry drank his medicine, then pulled the curtains around his bed to give him. At first that hadn’t seemed so bad, until Harry remembered that all his books were back in the Gryffindor common room. He had tried to lay down and take a nap, but sleeping on his back was impossible with the wings in the way, their weight made it hard to breathe if he lay on his stomach, and the bed was too narrow for him lay on his side without them dragging him over the edge. Which meant sitting there. Just…sitting there.

    By the time the sun started to disappear from the windows his wings had shrunk to about half their original size. That meant their tips were now about even with his lower back rather than his ankles, and though the weight of the extra bones along his shoulders was still there, it wasn’t so bad if he lay on his stomach and rested his head on his arms. Harry had just closed his eyes when he heard the door to the infirmary bang open and someone stumble inside, followed by Madam Pomfrey’s exasperated sigh.

    “Experimenting with new potions again, Miss Brocklehurst?” The nurse clucked her tongue. “While its very ambitious, we don’t suggest first years try to keep up with the Weasley twins when it comes to getting into mischief. Come on now, what was it this time?”

    “Love potion,” a girl answered breathily. Harry felt his cock stir at the sound of her voice. ‘Down, boy!’

    “For you, or for your use?” Madam Pomfrey asked. Harry watched as two shadows passed outside the curtain to his ward, heading to a bay across the room from him. “Never mind, don’t answer that. What did you do wrong?”

    “Nothing!” the girl panted. “I added the two twists of cocoa, stirred it three times clockwise, and added two pinches of silphium, just like the instructions said! It was the right color and everything!”

    “And whose hair did you use?”

    “Hair…?”

    “Yes, you silly girl, the hair you’re supposed to add, the one from the man you want to love with you.”

    “I didn’t add any hair…”

    “Hmph. No, I can see that you didn’t. Which means it wasn’t a love potion you brewed. A word of advice, Miss Brocklehurst, any time a potion calls for silphium, you always need hair for the person meant to drink it! Its not even that sort of love potion! Well, this isn’t the first time a young lady has presented herself to me in the state you’ve put yourself in, and I can assure you the effect will wear off in a few hours. Just stay here, and I’ll check on you later. And make sure those table legs are still attached to that table when I get back!”

    A moment later one of the shadows passed by, going the other way. Madam Pomfrey paused in front of his curtain. She turned towards him, as if she were going to say something, but instead she shook her head and continued back to her office. Harry frowned in confusion. What had that been about? And what sort of potion involved dismantling tables?

    On the far side of the room, the girl continued to whimper. It sort of sounded like she was in pain and sort of…not. The whimpers gradually turned to moans, and Harry started to get up when he realized that those were definitely not moans of pain. His cock realized that as well, and Harry quietly unzipped his pants to release it. He made a point of not unbuttoning his fly, that way it would be easier to tuck things back away in a hurry. He tried to fight it as he sat back down, to think of anything that might quell his erection, terrified by the thought of being discovered jacking off in the infirmary, but as the moaning grew louder her was forced to abandon all hope of such a resolution.

    Harry’s nostrils flared as the scent of sexual arousal began to fill the wing. He began to caress the base of his cock with the tips of his fingers, easing the skin up and down, still hesitant to fully committing his hand, when he heard the first wet squelching. Was she…? His fingers wrapped around his cock, squeezing tight as he slowly began to jerk himself off in time to the sounds coming from the other bay.

    “Fuuuck,” the girl loudly moaned.

    Harry closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe more evenly, more quietly, even as his hand began to speed up on his cock. He tried to picture what was going on across the room. Was she wearing anything? Probably. No, that wasn’t right. She was only wearing something, her school blouse, unbuttoned down the front and held only partially closed by her loosened tie, the better for her to reach inside her shirt and fondle her tits. Her skirt and panties lay in a puddle on the floor as her fingers plunged in and out of her cunnie. She’d managed to force three fingers into her wet gash, stretching the glistening pink flesh as far as she dared.

    “Ah! Ah! AH!”

    Harry bit his lip to keep himself from echoing her cries. How deep her fingers must have been, dancing along that most sensitive spot while her palm ground against her clit. Her hips would be bucking against her hand, trying to fuck it like the cock it was pretending to be. His own hand was a blur, his dick hard as a rock and slick with the precum dribbling out of the tip.

    “Ooooh…”

    He pictured himself rising over her, wings spread wide as he aimed his cock towards her waiting sex. There would be no going slow, not for them. Instead he would take her with one hard thrust, forcing open her inner walls until they had accepted every last inch of him.

    “Oh, fuck, fuck…”

    The pressure was building at the base of his cock, but Harry didn’t dare slow down. He could taste the blood as his teeth split the skin of his lip. His fist tightened around the base of his cock, his sack slapping against his fingers as his hips took over. His breathing had been reduced to quiet snorts as he imagined having her body wrapped around him, so hot and wet, the sweat rolling off her skin as his cock stabbed into her over and over, her heels digging into his back as she tried to force him even deeper.

    There was a choked, guttural cry from the far side of the room, followed by an exhausted sigh. Harry matched it with a muted grunt as he thrust his cock upward one last time and held it there, until the tension became too much and the first shot of cum erupted upwards. Long white ropes of semen twisted through the air before splattering the mattress between his legs, until the last bit came dripping down the side of his cock and oozed over his fingers. He quickly licked them clean, then looked down at the dark wet spots soaking into the sheets, but there was nothing to be done about them. Harry took a deep breath and forcibly reminded himself that it couldn’t be the first time a student had ever creamed one of the infirmary beds.

    He leaned back against his pillows and ran his hands over the tips of his wings. They had shrunk a little further while he had been otherwise occupied, but the rate seemed to be slowing down, and they were only as far as his navel. Harry frowned and sighed as he realized he was likely to end up spending the night in the bed he was in now. Well, nothing he could do about that. He tucked his cock back into his pants and zipped them shut, then rolled over on to his stomach.

    Then the moans started again…