Harry Meets Dragon
Their unit had been sent into the field after reports of monstrous activity had reached an alarming severity and frequency. Harry’s boys had carefully scouted the area and there had been multiple skirmishes, mostly with mindless critters, ghouls, devourers, corpse eaters. Nothing they couldn’t handle, though the fights had been exhausting.
He should have known it was a trap.
“Ron! Keep the frontline!”
“Aye, Captain!” His sergeant and best friend called back, hefting his billhook. “You heard it boys! Pikes front! Let’s give the buggers a proper welcome!”
Eyeing the teeming mass headed towards them, both minor demons and risen corpses, Harry turned to another sergeant. “Seamus, the flanks covered?”
“Heh, anyone tryin’ ta flank us will get a nasty surprise!” The leader of the sapper squad gave a savage grin. “Left behind some of our best.”
“Fire and steel!” Harry grinned in response.
“Sky high!”
“Captain, flyers!” Robins, the scout called out.
“The day’s just getting better, boys! Tonks!” He turned towards the armoured battlemage. “You see those?”
“Aye, Captain!”
“Well, I don’t want to!”
“You won’t, Captain!” The blood-red foci on her bracers gave off a dangerous glow as the battlemage eyed her targets. “I’ll rip ‘em outta the sky!”
Their briefing, however, got interrupted by a series of roars from the right flank, and his men paled at the sight there. A group of armoured ogres were charging their formation, ready to plough into their right flank, while the front was threatened by the undead.
Soon, however, Seamus “Bridgeburner” Finnegan proved that he made no empty boasts in the field. A series of explosions rocked everyone, tearing the ground apart, and taking at least four of the beasts down. That still left three, swinging their heavy clubs, and getting closer.
“Colin!” Harry bellowed. “Support Tonks!” He pointed at the incoming birds. Stormbirds from the shadowlands, larger than a man, their claws and beaks strong enough to tear through steel. But their greatest weapon was the lightning that could lash out from their wings. Already, ozone cold be felt in the air.
“But Captain!” Colin gestured towards the ogres.
“Cover Tonks! That’S an order!” Harry hefted his spear. “Leave the ogres to me!”
And then there was no more time to argue. Tonks was sending sizzling projectiles into the air, followed by the bolts of his boys’ heavy crossbows, and the demons led the undead charge into his frontline. He heard Ron bellow orders and encouragement as he cleaved a skull in twain with his “Old Dependable”.
He had his own task, however. None of the ogres would reach his boys! His legs took him out of the formation and into the sights of the ogres. Dumb beasts, usually, but their fighting instincts were often great. He knew he needed their attention.
“Oi!” His bellow, after years of practice, easily carried over the din of battle. The focusing gem on his right wrist lit up briefly, and his attack bounced off the chestplate of the front ogre, a simple magical projectile. “Ya hafta take me first!”
This attracted their attention indeed. A single man was an easier target than an armoured formation bristling with pikes. The closest ogre was running at him, roaring loudly as it prepared its heft club, but Harry’s spear gave him the chance to strike first, like a snake lashing out at a gap in the crude armour, eliciting a pained shriek from the beast.
The whole time, the focus on his left forearm glowed brilliant orange. This was a spell that Tonks had shown him a long time ago. In a way, he envied her. She was able to cast it without preparation and repeatedly, while he had to spend valuable seconds charging it up.
As he rounded the wounded ogre, he aimed his arm at the second one. A brilliant projectile went roaring away, burrowing itself into the second ogres eye, hissing as it charred flesh and evaporated water.
While the second ogre fell, never to rise again, he noticed Tonk assaulting the birds with a lash made out of crimson energy, truly ripping one of the winged giants apart.
Then the third ogre was coming at him, hitting him with a crushing blow to his side. A shield shimmered into existence, called forth from the defensive focus on his shoulder, before shattering, sending him to the ground. Achy, bruised, but alive.
His left attack focus was still too hot to use from his previous spell, an aftereffect of magic he was too weak to cast normally. But his right one was ready, sending an explosive attack at the ogre. It missed, though the shockwave sent to beast falling forward. Hastily, he braced his spear and then quickly jumped aside as the ogre impaled itself on his weapon.
“And then there was one,” Harry growled to himself, as he stumbled forward, drawing his sword. Though it was nothing special, the blade was keen and had served him well so far, the guard simple, but effective, though he was glad for his gauntlets. Without them, he would have had lost his hand a long time ago.
“Come on!” He urged the wounded beast, watching it prepare a wide swing of its club.
“Now!” His shout came as the club started its descent. It was a risky move, he knew, and the club briefly touched the shield he had hastily called on again, but in doing so, he managed to get behind the ogres back. Gritting his teeth, he put all his strength into hacking at the ogre’s unprotected right leg. The tendons were severed, and the beast dropped to one knee with another hate-filled shriek.
Dodging a wide swing of its arm, Harry moved to its front. “There!” His blade found a gap in the front armour, piercing the ogre’s loins, and finding an artery.
It wasn’t just the ogre who collapsed, however, as Harry too dropped to his knees, leaning on his sword. The hits he had received, if not for the shields, would have crushed him to paste. Even so, they hurt, and as he was panting from the exertion, watching his boys hold their own and push their enemy back with steel in hands, his various aches caught up with him. Surely, he could take a rest…
No. A roar unlike any that had sounded that day had interrupted the fighting, and a new shadow covered the battlefield. Shadow-like wings carry a sinuous body that lands on legs sporting claws long and sharp enough to eviscerate a man, covered in opaque black scales, hide thick enough to withstand most weapons, a dragon arrived on the field of battle. Horned head on a long neck surveyed the scene, fire burning in the yellow eyes.
Eyes that were looking directly into his.
‘Many I have met. All I have refused. But you, it would be a shame to lose you.’
The thoughts pierces his mind with a force unlike any mental attack he had experienced so far.
‘Know me then, I am Hildostra. And like you, I refuse to tolerate this filth!’
The dragon opened its, her, maw, and a torrent of flames, orange tinted with blue, spewed forth, covering the demons that had yet to reach his boys.
The fight was short and simple after that.
“Oi, Captain.” Seamus, covered in blood and grime, was making his way towards him. “You really pick up the best chicks!”
Tale 1
Captain Harry Potter, freshly elevated to rank of Dragon Rider due to the events in the recent battle near Sparrowhawk Mountains where his daring and chivalry impressed a notorious solitaire dragon enough that the dragon bonded with him, sighed and looked at the decorated dagger-like focus that symbolized the trouble he found himself in. Earlier today he took it from a pompous looking blonde lickspittle who was using it to threaten several patrons in a bar. And now, an older version of the lickspittle, was marching towards him, his eyes promising a painful demise.
“You ambushed my son and stole an artefact of House Malfoy,” the older ponce almost hissed.
Fortunately, Harry was not alone, being accompanied by one of his comrades from his previous service, Battlemage of the Third Order, Tonks. Her silhouette, clad in heavy armour, her combat focus glinting threateningly, gave his a sense of certainty.
“Your son must have misinformed you. He was drunk and threatening the owner of the bar.” Harry retorted, quickly going through the various shield types he could cast with the defence focus on his shoulder at a moment’s notice.
“Are you calling my son a liar?” Malfoy senior came even closer.
Harry knew, however, that even should the man close the distance to lunge at him with a hidden dagger, the armour beneath his robes would protect him.
“I am calling him a liar and a coward.” He stood his ground, looking Malfoy senior in the eyes.
“You robbed my son of his honour.” Malfoy was almost spitting.
“You cannot take away what some does not have.” Harry retorted firmly.
Malfoy bared his teeth. “That insult to House Malfoy cannot go unanswered. It must be washed away with blood. As my son’s champion, I will see you tomorrow in the duelling pit. I hope you at least own a proper duelling blade.”
And with his last piece said, Lord Malfoy spat on the ground and strode away.
“Well, captain,” Tonks addressed him, “you certainly know how to keep life interesting.”
“And potentially short.”
“Says the man that charged three ogres at once and took them down.” Tonks snorted. “Even that dragon thought you were so crazy that you needed a bond to keep you grounded. A damn black dragon!”
“What can I say? It needed doing, they needed killing.” Harry shrugged.
“Anyway, captain.” Tonks looked him straight in the eyes. “Since he chose himself as a champion for his son, you also can choose a champion.” Her smile was now unsettling. “So I have a question for you. Do you want that man crippled, or dead?”
Tale 2
The atmosphere in the room was one of anxious energy, at least to an outside observer. There were only two people, the somewhat notorious Battlemage going by Tonks, now out of her armour, only in a light shirt and tight pants. Her hair was bound in its usual long plait, now moving around as she took several practice swings with the curved duelling blade, getting a feeling for its balance and reach. It was a curious weapon, dedicated to duelling pits, curved blade, long handle, sparsely decorated crossguard. It was quite unlike what the soldiers wielded in the field.
“Are you really certain about this?” The other person in the room asked.
“No worries, captain.” Tonks’ grin show far too many teeth. “I got a feel for this pigsticker. Only a limited number of ways to swing it.” The red jewels on her wristguards, her combat foci, glinted in the sunlight.
“You are more used to those.” Harry pointed at her foci.
“No worries, captain, I can tear that ponce a new one, whether by blade, magic, or hands, for all I care.” And to illustrate her point, her left hand grew impressive claws. “I’ll be a proper champion for you.”
Harry snorted in derision. “Pox on that and any miserable bastard that complains. I’m worried about you.”
“Aww, captain, you’re so sweet.” Tonks cackled. “Don’t you worry, I’ll win that duel, preserve your honour and then you can fill my room with flowers and properly woo me. We’ll have five kids, all dragonriders.” She batted her now exaggerated eyelashes at him.
“Piss off.” Harry chuckled.
All the while they talked, he was keenly aware of the location of his new dragon. His dragon, it would take some getting used to. The rather cantankerous female lay curled in a warm spot that was prepared for her in the dragon quarters of the city, basking in sunlight and contentedly digesting her latest meal. He felt her satisfaction and the somewhat sluggish stream of thought and impressions from her mind. With each day, their connection grew in strength.
‘Do you not trust your flightmate?’ Came her exasperated query.
‘I certainly do.’ His reply came with a bit of effort, this mode of communication still unfamiliar to him.
‘Then stop worrying and support her.’
His new companion, Hildostra, known to many as The Black Solitaire of Sparrowhawk Mountains, was certainly opinionated. He sighed. Another one among many.
Tale 3
The duelling pit was cleaned properly, Tonks noticed. The marble floor of the circular arena gleamed white in the afternoon light. The stands were filled with spectators, common people, lesser noblemen and a few dragonriders. Many of those were barely able to hide their disdain at the group occupying the stands on her side of the arena. Loudly joking and laughing, Captain Potter’s Boys were as irrepressible as always. Their clothing was patchy, their hygiene left something to be desired, and their jokes were barely fit for polite company.
She wouldn’t want them any other way. “Old Dependable” Weasley, “Bridge-Burner” Finnegan, even little Creevey earned a nickname, “Deadeye” they called him, and rightfully so. The lad was now downright scary with a crossbow. But it wasn’t just them, the entire unit came to see her defend their Captain’s honour.
No, they came to see her kick ass, she corrected herself with a snort, her plait moving in agitation. Her captain stood with her in the arena, holding the sheathed duelling blade she would be using. She herself was currently unarmed. At least to the untrained eye. The combat foci on her forearms were ready to be used, should the need arise.
She wore a simple white tunic, a pair of pants and her favourite comfortable boots, looking quite unassuming. Many pairs of eyes watched her in suspicion, however, knowing of her reputation. It did not help matters that she now worked without a proper battlemage team, much like her notoriously infamous aunt Bellatrix, the “Walking Catastrophe”.
Pox on what those bastards thought! She was here to tear a new one to a pretentious git that tried to bully her Captain.
And said git was now entering the arena on the other side, accompanied by an unknown man carrying his duelling blade.
Both groups stood facing each other now as the officiator spoke from the stands, her voice resonating throughout the arena.
“We are here today to see to the settling of a dispute between House Malfoy and Dragonrider Potter. The head of House Malfoy called for this duel to restore the honour of House Malfoy. I need to ask you, is there no way to settle this without violence? Is there no way for you to resolve this dispute with words?”
Lucius sneered and shook his head while Tonks bared her teeth in a hideous smile.
“So be it. This duel shall be fought with blades until one side surrenders or is unable to continue. Champions, present your blades.”
Lucius drew the richly decorated blade from the scabbard his companion offered him and raised it in the air, looking like a victorious warrior posing in the moment of his triumph, his cape made him a striking figure, but Tonks mainly noticed the jewelled brooch keeping the cloak in place.
She drew the plain blade her Captain offered her and raised it lazily in the air. A few of the noblemen booed while she enjoyed the laughter coming from her side of the audience.
“Do you intend to make a mockery of this?” Lucius demanded.
“Oh, my intentions are quite different.” She eyed his jugular rather pointedly.
“So confident. Yet you could not even keep your team alive.”
“So self-assured, yet you could not even give my aunt a proper son, only that weakling.” She smirked.
“I will make you regret those words.” Lucius hissed, pointing the blade at her. “Before making you eat your own tongue.”
“Nice plan.” She chuckled. “I plan to open you head to crotch and see if I can find at least a speck of honour inside of you.”
Their exchange was interrupted by the officiator sending all other people out of the arena. It was time to fight.
Lucius assumed a proper guard stance, right out of a swordsmanship manual, his blade pointing forward and gently upward, aiming right at her face. She stood quite relaxed at raised her blade into a similar stance, yet many in the audience called her “sloppy”.
His blade knocked her aside and went straight at her, before changing direction, Lucius having started with a feint.
Tonks was undeterred by the feint and intercepted his incoming cut with her own blade, the contact making Lucius’ blade decorated with golden vines slide alongside hers. She also sidestepped to the left and immediately went on the attack with her left hand closed into a fist.
The crunch as her fist met his nose was most satisfying, the hit sending Lucius to the ground, clutching his face. She waited on him, quite enjoying his teary glare as he tried to stem the bleeding. She nodded at his blade lying on the ground, bidding him to pick it up.
Lucius was much more cautious in his approach now and they exchanged a few cuts and parries, with him probing her defences and her quickly lashing out of her blade. Their styles differed quite a bit, him having studied under a renowned instructor, her being experienced in fighting in the field. This made her attacks direct, blunt, but she was too quick for his ripostes.
His lack of progress seemed to anger Lucius, Tonks thought, judging by the tight frown he wore. But it seemed to sharpen his focus and gain speed. It had to come eventually, he scored a hit on her, cutting her left side. The pain, however, was nothing new to her, but when they next crossed blades, he feinted again and with a kick he sent her tumbling. She tasted blood, her tongue hurt. Lucius was coming at her, blade raised. She hit him right between the eye with a bloody spit, stopping him in his tracks.
Then she noticed the brooch of his cloak glowing. Her feet started sinking into the ground. She quickly jumped away and then the officiator and audience noticed how deformed the ground was.
“That was an unsanctioned use of magical energy!” The officiator exclaimed. “Battlemage Tonks, you have the right to claim victory in this duel.”
“Oh no.” Tonks wiped the blood from her chin. “Let’s continue. I don’t mind adding magic to the mix.”
Throwing all pretences aside, Lucius used his earth focus to its full potential, sending several spears of stone at her while simultaneously trying to catch her feet. She danced through his attempts and her own foci glowed, crimson, bloody red. She held her arms out and clenched her fists. Lucius stiffened, unable to move, only his eyes moving to her foci. Realisation dawned on him. Blood, her specialty was blood. The one he spilled, the one she spat into his face. And due to that close contact, control of his body was hers.
“I told you I would open you head to crotch, Lucius.” Her grin showed far too many teeth. She quickly jerked her hands apart. And Lucius’ body tried to follow the motion of both of her hands.
Blood stained the marble.
Tale 4
The past few days had been hell. This thought was a constant in his mind. And it wasn’t looking likely that it would change in the near future. First he got mugged by that vagrant when he was just asking for the proper respect he deserved, then he got scolded for losing the family casting focus which his great-grandfather had received from the king for his services.
And then it turned out that the vagrant was a dragonrider! Dressed in rags and surrounded by thugs, but a dragonrider. His father had gone to get the focus back, but failed. It should have been a simple affair!
He felt his dragon partner move restlessly, his own disquiet influencing even Aruldred. Not that the dragon was going to help him much in this situation.
And then it all escalated. Father tried to wash off the stain of dishonour that the dragonrider’s stubbornness caused his family, but that dragonrider had an access to a battlemage of all things. Even so, Father had been an excellent swordsman, he should have made mincemeat of that woman, but no… His stomach still turned when he recalled the scene, his father, slumped over, the battlemage’s feral grimace and then…
He paled, recalling the deluge of blood and gore. The battlemage tore his father in two. Without any regards for honour, or for prestige, for all that the family could have given somebody of her talents, she mercilessly slaughtered his father.
And now he stood there, in the same hall where he received the honours of a royal dragonrider from the king himself. Once again, he stood before the formidable man, surrounded by the heads or representatives of the noble houses of the kingdom, knights, dragonriders, battlemages, master enchanters.
But this time, the atmosphere was entirely different.
“Draco of House Malfoy,” the aging king intoned with his powerful voice, “You stand before us, having brought grave dishonour to House Malfoy, and by proxy, to your king.”
Draco gulped, noting the looks on his peers’ faces, ranging from indifferent to cold. People who used to drink and feast with his father now seemed to tower over him, looking down their nose at him, eyes resembling chips of ice. His own friends, Theo, with whom he spent many a night drinking, Blaise, his partner during amorous escapades, Pansy… Nobody showed even a shred of sympathy. His mother, ever a lady of impeccable manners, showed no emotion at all, her gaze drilling into his head.
He remembered the talk they had a day prior, her eyes almost glowing with feverish energy, her voice coming out in a hiss, reminding him of the family legacy.
“We cannot abide a dishonoured House in our service,” the king continued, his eyes hard. “Therefore, there are only two ways of resolving this situation.”
Draco knew, painfully aware of the traditions surrounding situations like his.
At the king’s gesture, a servant stepped forward, carrying a short, one edged blade.
“You can remove the stain of dishonour from House Malfoy.” The king nodded at him, no change in his expression. “Or you can accept discommendation for House Malfoy.”
Though none of the nobles moved a muscle, Draco heard the murmurs of the crowd watching the spectacle. The hissing, the expressions of incredulity. How quickly he fell from being admired, receiving random gifts from the people for his service!
Looking at his friends, none offered even a sign of compassion. He turned to look at his other, but she may have as well been carved of marble, just as cold and hard.
The ceremonial blade gleamed in the cold light, stinging Draco’s eyes. He gulped, and looked back at the king.
“What is your decision, Draco of House Malfoy?”
“I..” Sweat rolled down his forehead and gathered in his eyebrows. “I accept the discommendation.”
The level of noise in the background rose dramatically, more people were hissing and now also booing. The cold gazes of his former peers speared him, yet none was sharper than his mother’s.
Very well.” The king nodded, his voice sharp. “Let it be known then that House Malfoy is hearby stripped of all their holdings and titles. Within two days, you shall vacate the buildings that were once given to you. May you bring no more disgrace.”
As the king finished speaking, he laid his left fist on the hilt of his ceremonial sword, while his right fist was clenched above his heart. With ceremonial pomp, the king stomped and turned his back on him. This was a signal to all the gathered peers, who followed the king’s example, literally and figuratively turning their backs on Draco and the Malfoys.
Tale 5
A whole day had gone by since he had accepted the discommendation, and the atmosphere in what would soon cease to be his home was one he was unlikely to ever forget. His cousins and the few people who stayed loyal to his family were frantically packing what they could manage. His mother, however, had called him to a private room.
„I believe,“ she hissed at him, a half-empty goblet of fire in her hand, „that I tasked you with remembering this family’s legacy.“ She aggressively jabbed him in the chest. „For generations, the Malfoys have gathered titles, lands, and riches. And with the marriage to the Blacks, our power was consolidated.”
“Mother, I…” He tried to remind her that he was still her son, that the family could continue, that…
“Do not interrupt me when I am speaking!” She took a swig of her wine and put the empty goblet on a nearby table. “With your foolishness you have undone generations’ worth of work. You must have inherited that from your father.” She sniffed. “Escalating things to a duel, and against Bella’s niece at that. What possessed him?”
“But mother, father was…” He tried again.
“Silence! Your father could be a great man at times.” She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “No matter how great, no man is greater than the House. The House must come first.” She speared him with a frustrated look. “Always. And yet, argh, and yet here we are.”
“But, after father, I…” Once again, he tried to speak up.
“Oh, after your father, you inherited his position.” She waved her hand. “And after your death, it would have fallen to your uncle. He is still unmarried.” She shrugged. “And I am young still. We would have made it work. But now, we have lost our holdings, our positions. Do not look so surprised, nobody will want to keep a Malfoy in any position of prestige.”
They were interrupted by loud voices from outside, as people were moving valuables from nearby rooms.
“Now, we will have to scatter, you and your cousins will have to seek postings elsewhere.” She furrowed her brows further. “It will be nothing glamorous, but there are always some villages needing their dragonrider garrison strengthened. This way, we will recover at least a semblance of respect for the family. Hopefully, at least some trading partners will be willing to work with us.”
She looked at him again.
“What are you still doing here? Go to the bathhouse. You want to look respectable. You will be looking for work.”
He sighed. “Yes, mother.”
==(/)==
The news had spread like wildfire, of course, and many people were openly pointing at him, mocking him, jeering at him, even spitting at him. He growled, remembering their respectful bows he had enjoyed only a few days prior.
The public bathhouse was busy, as usual. It was a popular establishment. As soon as he entered, he was sought out by the proprietor, a matronly sort of woman.
“What services do you desire?” She asked him, casting a suspicious look at his money pouch.
“A barber, then a bath, and take care of my clothes.”
“Payment upfront.”
He growled, they expected him to be poor now, and took out the usual amount of coin.
“Very good, go this way, please, and relax. The barber will be with you shortly.”
Grumbling, he went to the indicated room. A chair was prepared for him, at least it looked comfortable. He washed his face in the prepared basin, and sat down with a weary sigh. It really was comfortable.
The barber, however, was taking their time. He was just getting ready to stand up and complain, when he felt it. Magic. Bindings crept along his skin. Before he could formulate a counterspell, he couldn’t move. Paralysis.
He heard the figure come up behind him, steps light, silent, trained. However much he tried, he couldn’t move a muscle, so he couldn’t even look at the person coming up from behind. However, he felt the come close, smell their perfume.
The person leaned close to his ear. “Your uncle sends his regards.”
The whisper came followed by the sound of a sharp blade being bared. He felt the chill of cold steel on his throat, the sting as it cut into his skin.
Pub Crawl
Author's Note: Here's a continuation of the Dragonrider AU. In this tale, Harry and his compatriots are away from the battlefield, heading into very familiar territory.
You are welcome to join the Harry/Fleur Discord, a lively and inspiring place: discord．gg/CpzggZbfyU
=======(/\)=======
The "Crowned Lion" sign squeaked as it moved in the wind while Harry, Ron, Seamus, and Colin passed it. Seamus held the pub's door open and the blaze of warmth and music felt like a welcoming embrace. The singing was already off-key while the fiddler was doing his best to compensate. The singers, however, tried to compensate for their lack of singing ability with sheer volume, no doubt emboldened by alcohol.
"My kind of place!" Seamus's grin was missing a tooth, and managed to be equally lecherous and disturbing, while he ushered the others in.
Though they weren't wearing their uniforms, their bearing and visage identified them as soldiers to anyone paying the least bit attention, and most people in the pub noted the weapons sheathed at their waists. At least those still coherent, for a few patrons had already been sleeping under the tables.
Colin found them a free table while Ron and Harry were also assessing the pub, noting several armed groups in there.
"What can I get you, gents?" The waitress bowed towards them, giving them a nice view of cleavage.
"What else, luv?" Seamus winked. "The soldiers' special! Cheap wine and a bowl of whatever's cooking." He exaggerated his movements, sniffing in the direction of the kitchen, while also winking at the waitress.
"I'll be back in a jiffy, gents!" She winked at them and went to check on another table with a rather rowdy group of guests.
The singers had meanwhile switched to another song, belting out a mightily modified serenade to the Queen Mother, making Seamus grin and Colin plant his face in his hands.
"So," Ron made a dramatic pause, "a dragonrider now? Who would have thought?" He waggled his eyebrows. "Gonna mingle with the high and mighty now, eh?" He nudged Harry with an elbow.
"Oh, piss off!" Harry batted his hand away. "You know me. And you know a lot of those tossers wouldn't breathe the same air I do if they could help it."
Ron's answering laugh turned a few heads in the room. "Ah, but they can't help it now, can they?"
"Yes, a fact which will make them so much happier to see me." Harry rubbed his forehead with a grimace.
Colin turned to him. "Head giving you trouble, Captain?"
"Not gonna be your captain much longer, ya know?" Harry growled, angrily scowling. "If you haven't noticed, I got several tons of a spiky flying firebreather connected to my head. And she has quite the attitude."
"Told ya, Captain," Seamus was still grinning, "you pick up the best chicks."
"Laugh it up."
"Aye, Captain!" Seamus saluted and followed his captain's orders, followed by the others. Even Harry cracked a smile.
At that moment, the waitress was back with a pitcher of red wine and four goblets.
"Here ya go, gents!" She handed them each a goblet and poured the wine. "Just make sure you cause no trouble here."
"Don't worry," Harry spoke as he handed her a coin, "those may look like vagabonds. ("Oi!") Even smell like vagabonds, and speak even worse, but they're not that bad."
The waitress's "Uh-huh" suggested she didn't much believe those words, however.
"Anyway," Seamus spoke up after the waitress left, and after he took a sip of the wine, "you may not be our captain soon, but you will always be our Captain!"
"Hear, hear! Cheers to that!" Ron and Colin raised the goblets, and the four friends and comrades drank.
"If they put any weight in my recommendation," Harry said after a few moments in thought, "Ron will get command." He shrugged. "But it's just as likely they'll call in someone from another unit."
"Ah," Seamus waved his hand and almost spilled his wine, "we'll cross that bridge when we get to it."
Colin nodded, followed by Ron. "And burn it afterwards, yeah?" Colin smirked.
"Who do you take me for?" Seamus sounded outraged, again making heads turn. "Course we'll burn it!"
"Aye!" Ron toasted him. "Think the Boys would take some tosser at their lead? They'd rather resign their commission."
Harry refilled his goblet. "Let's not get hasty, don't throw all away."
"Really?" Colin snorted. "You? You're telling us that? Mister-I'm-gonna-charge-three-ogres-by-myself?"
"When did the small kid get so mouthy?" Harry mock lamented. "Besides, it worked, dinnit?"
"And who says our plan won't?" Ron shrugged. "Besides, who'd want our band of reprobates anyway? The way I see it, they'll disband us and send us to different units."
"But that," Seamus raised his goblet for another toast, "will come later. Now, we drink! To another successful deployment!"
"Aye!" The rest of the friends cheered as well. This was their third goblet each and the wine was going to their head.
"Here it is, gents!" The waitress was gliding towards them with four bowls. "The stew!"
"Aw, thank ye, darlin'!" Seamus cheered while enjoying the scent rising from his bowl.
Harry had to admit, this pub's perpetual stew was certainly savoury.
"Well," Ron spoke up, "they have a good cook here."
"People're not bad either." Seamus grinned. "Oi, fiddler! How 'bout a cheerful tune?"
The fiddler bowed with a wide smile, even wider after a coin Ron had thrown landed near him, and soon a well-known folk song celebrating the bounties of a farmer women's fruit garden was welcomed by loud cheers.
"Heh," Ron sipped his wine, "Seamus always had the ability to bring folks together."
"Yeah." Harry nodded, watching Seamus leading the patrons into a particularly off-key rendition of the stanza praising the ripe apples of the generous woman. "Especially when they chase after him and want to beat him to death."
Colin had to spit out the wine at that. "How many times has it been again?"
Harry shrugged. "Only the gods know."
"Well," Colin raised his goblet, "here's to it being at least one more!"
"Aye!" The goblets clinked against each other.
The friends' laughter was, however, interrupted by a sound that put them immediately on guard. A scream of fright and the sound of broken pottery. A huddle of men were standing around a blond who was now waving a dagger towards the waitress. A jewelled dagger.
"He's waving a bloody focus around," Ron muttered while the friends were standing up, in formation to guard each other's backs.
"Rider," Seamus noted, looking at the blond's clothes, their cut resembling the coats the infantry wore under armour.
"We don't know what the others'll do. Careful." Harry was in command mode. "Don't draw first."
They approached the group. The blond's companions looked uncomfortable, unsure what to do about the blond rider's behaviour. Seeing the friends approaching, noting their stance and weapons, they very visibly put their hands away from their belts, and stepped back.
"What do you mean you won't bring more?" The blond was ruddy in the face and unstable on his feet. "Money? Who do you think I am?" He turned around, waving the focus around the room. Think I'm some beggar? I'm a Malfoy, my word is worth more than your lives." He turned back to the waitress. "Now bring more wine!"
"Is that the behaviour of a noble dragon rider? A noble exemplar of honour?" Harry approached him, showing his empty hands. "Does a fellow dragonrider need to threaten a woman?"
The young Malfoy focused on him. "Fellow dragorider? You? You dress like a vagabond. Born in mud and trying to climb up." He aimed the dagger at Harry. "What did you do? Steal a dragon egg?"
Harry a felt a headache approaching as Hildostra growled in his head, incensed at the allegations. 'Steal a dragon egg? Show that pale worm his place!'
'Calm yourself before you split my head,' he sent back at her in exasperation. "That is not important." He approached, arms outstretched. Coiled as a spring, ready to act. "But you threatening the people here is. Put your weapon down."
"Some mudborn filth won't order me around!"
Harry knew the attack would come, and met the wild swing with a dodge to the side, before stepping into the blond's space, a hand grabbing the arm with the dagger, the other hitting the Malfoy's nose. He let go of the dagger and clutched the now bloody nose, sending a tearful glare at Harry.
"You'll pay for that!"
Harry tucked the dagger behind his belt, giving the young Malfoy a cold gaze that usually was enough to calm down hotheaded recruits.
"You'll calm down now, lickspittle, and go home." He patted the dagger. "I'll be keeping this. When you sober up, come pick it up."
"You've robbed me of my honour!" The blonde lunged at him, trying to get at the dagger, only to be sent to the floor by a strong backhand.
"You have none." Harry turned to Malfoy's companions. "Take that little lickspittle home, and make sure he doesn't bother anyone else."
The men, to their credit, did not protest, and took the young Malfoy between them, half guiding and half carrying him away.
"Well, Captain," Seamus patted his shoulder, "always interesting time with you."
"Yeah," Ron nodded, "You really know how to make friends."
Daphne Appears!
It was just his luck, Harry supposed, to come across trouble even when looking for a quiet place to take a leak. What he thought would be a quiet corner in a backalley turned out to be quite crowded, with a group of young people, most likely a young family with a little child, cowering before several thugs. They were typical roughs, with bare arms to display impressive scarred biceps, and waving around clubs with rusty spikes at the ends.
“Are we not good people?” Spoke a squirrelly figure from between the roughs. “Are we not kind? Patient?” He nodded at one of the roughs, who cut off another route of escape for the family. “We lent you money when you asked, did we not?”
“Yes boss, we did.” The ugliest ruffian spoke, lisping somewhat, missing several teeth.
“And we only asked you to repay us.”
The toughs stepped closer to the family.
“But you refuse our reasonable request. What does that make you?”
“Filthy thieves.” Another tough spoke up.
“Aye.” The leader spoke up. “And we all know what happens to filthy thieves. You don’t want that to happen to you. Or to your little son. So how will we resolve this pickle, hm?”
The toughs leered at the young mother.
Harry was well aware of just how often young women had to repay their debts with their bodies. And how often they never managed to get out of it. But somebody else was watching the situation unfold, somebody with less patience.
“How about, —” another figure spoke up, covered in a long cloak, appearing out of the shadows, “— you all scram and forget about the family.”
The leader turned towards the figure who spoke, a young woman with a rough voice. “And what will you do if we refuse?”
The woman removed her hood, revealing a head of choppily cropped dirty brown hair, her dark eyes glinting dangerously, her smile resembled more a bloody gash. “Then I will break your arms and legs, and make you watch as I eat your liver. Raw.” She revealed her teeth, unnaturally sharp, and her eyes flashed crimson.
The woman was pale, Harry noticed, and various scars crisscrossed her face. She moved quickly, revealing that she held a hand crossbow and a wicked-looking sharp knife. Her appearance was enough to make the ruffians pale.
“Boss, we ain’t messing around with a damn demon stalker.”
The ruffians mumbled various things, expressing their assent, and even their leader just nodded.
“You’re lucky. Won’t be the next time.”
With that the ruffians scrambled away. But instead of giving thanks, the family stayed rooted to the spot, growing even paler.
“Here.” The woman shrugged, and threw them a pouch of coins. “To get you out of trouble.”
No thanks were said, the family choosing to run away instead.
“Oh, well, why say thank you?” The woman shrugged, turning to Harry. “Right?”
“Can’t say for certain.” He waved at her. “Could it have been the threat of cannibalism that frightened them so?”
“You think? It got those bastards to leave.” She sheathed the knife, and removed the bolt from her crossbow. “It’s almost a shame, they could have tried something. Raw human liver is not that bad, you know.”
“I guess I’ll trust you on that.”
“Mhm.” She measured him up. “So why aren’t you running off and screaming?”
“I’ve met enough of your compatriots.”
“Oh my. What a worldly fellow! Daphne’s the name.”
“My pleasure.” He shook her hand. “Give me a moment, and then I invite you for a round of drinks.”
“You’re paying? Then it’s a deal.”
Even though her smile was much friendlier now, her teeth were still sharp. A growl in the back of his mind almost startled him.
‘But not as sharp as yours,' he hastened to reassure his partner.
A Hug (of sorts)
“Ah, shit.” That was Harry’s eloquent commentary on his current situation. And indeed, he had just stepped into quite the pile of excrement. And why was he wandering the charming countryside? That was his newest assignment. After all the excitement in the capital, he and Hildostra had been sent to be the garrison of a smallish village near the southern coast. Whinging something?
As he had feared, his old unit was dissolved, but his Boys, the reprobated, had all turned in their royal shillings and resigned. And so, the Whatever Whinging village gained a multitude of new people, all suspiciously willing to serve in the militia that was meant to work in tandem with their dragonrider.
It turned out that there had been cases of missing people lately, and the higher-ups suspected foul play by monsters. His Boys followed him out of the village and spread out, forming a very loose formation in order to search the area, while Hildostra circled high in the air, looking for threats.
He lifted his wide-brimmed hat and wiped his forehead, it was hot that day. Then he noticed a convenient patch of taller grass, and went to clean the sole of his boot of the smelly reminder of his blunder.
“Oh my,” a voice positively purred to his left. “What is a strapping young man like you doing all the way here?”
It was an innocent question, but the voice made it sound more sinful than even the most expensive courtesans in the capital’s public houses. Just listening to it felt like slender fingers ran down his spine.
“This is a fortunate meeting indeed, mhm.” By now the voice was almost dripping with filthy promise. [8:05 PM] His eyes sought out the origin of the voice and he had to swallow his saliva. Luxurious raven locks fell over bare delicate shoulders and a swan-like neck, then there was a hint of generous cleavage and a split skirt revealing a smooth leg. He wondered how it would feel to run his hand through that hair, to kiss the slender neck, to feel the muscled thighs wrapped around his waist.
“You won’t need that sword, handsome soldier.” Every step she took was seduction, filled with dirty promises. “I am interested in a different kind of sword.”
He noticed he had been gripping the hilt at his waist, and let it go. Why hold on to a weapon?
There was a load roar that felt like someone brought a pick top his temple, and his vision swam for a moment. As he recovered from the head-ache induced stagger, a large shadow roughly landed next to him. Hildostra.
‘Get a hold of yourself.’ Even her mental voice hissed. ‘You are MINE!’
‘And you!’ She bared her teeth at the strange woman. ‘You are DEAD!’
Was it a woman? Since when do women have horns? Tails? Wings?
The succubus’s until then lovely face twisted with a grimace and malice burned in her crimson eyes. “A dragonrider. I should have known. But that won’t help you!”
With a beat of her wings, the demon rose into the air, a sickly yellow bolt of energy appearing in her hand. She then immediately had to dodge a stream of fire, as Hildostra followed her into the air, roaring her rage for all to hear.
But they were not as alone as Harry had thought. From where the succubus had stood, three figures crested a foothill. All humans this time. And armed. [8:05 PM] “Just great,” he grumbled to himself. “Ho there, gentlemen!” He waved at them, while gripping the hilt of his sword with the other hand. “What brings you here?”
Judging by clothing, they were bandits at best, their trousers were torn and coats dirty, but their weapons, crude as they were, could still kill.
“Shut up, bastard!” It was the middle one, grasping a cheap sword like it was a hammer, that called to him in a rough voice. “You’re here for her!”
“Yeah!” The one on the left, armed with a long knife, stepped forward. “We won’t let you!”
“Slit your throat, we will!” And that was the third one, with a hatchet.
“Oh, gentlemen, three on one?” Harry drew his sword. “Hardly fair!”
“You’ll be able to complain about it in the afterlife!”
The three were not stupid, they moved away from each other, to be able to attack him from different directions.
“You really don’t want to do this.” Harry dropped into a ready stance, trying to keep all three of them in sight.
“Oh we do!” It was the middle one again. They were circling him, forcing him to keep turning, until he had sun in his eyes. Fortunately, the brim of his hat shielded him from being blinded.
And then, at a small twitch of the leader’s head, the three moved in to attack. Outnumbered three to one, Harry did the only thing he could. He feinted going left, but then turned right, moving towards the fellow with a long knife, who was already winding up for an overhead cut.
Harry closed in the distance, and guarded high, parrying the cut, smoothly letting the man run into a hard smash by the basket of Harry’s sword. It landed with a satisfying crunch, making the man howl in pain, let go of the knife drop to the ground, and clutch his broken nose. [8:06 PM] Going with the momentum, Harry dropped into a roll over the man, losing his hat in the process.
The other two hesitated, seeing that move, but since Harry stayed crouched on the ground, they grew bold enough to attack again.
They flinched as Harry exploded into motion, thrusting his free hand at them, and one of them howled, as he received a handful of heated soil into his eyes. The other one lunged at Harry with a sword, but missed, Harry having dodged to the left, crouching again.
“Bastard, face me!” The man turned toward him and again lunged at Harry’s chect. This time, Harry stood erect, and knocked the lunge aside, sidestepping now behind the enraged attacker. And then, Harry revealed what he had picked up while crouched, plunging the first attacker’s long knife into the swordsman’s neck.
“You’ll pay for that!” The man with the broken nose mumbled, but the hatchetman looked less sure, eyeing their now twitching leader busy bleeding to death on the ground.
The decision whether to attack Harry was taken from him though, by the heavy crossbow bolt now finding its way through his heart.
All the fight left the man with the broken nose at the sight, and he sank back to his knees, sobbing softly.
In the meantime, Harry sought out the figure walking towards them, a heavy crossbow in their hands.
“Colin!” He waved. “Found your way here, hm?”
“Bah, you were making such a commotion, captain, that you must have alerted at least three different garrisons.” Colin was grinning and lowered his crossbow. When he came closer, they exchanged one armed hugs. [8:07 PM] “Any trouble?”
“Nothing we couldn’t handle, captain.” The young man’s grin suggested there had indeed been some trouble of the bloody kind. “And you? Besides the obvious?”
They were interrupted by the impact of a charred half of succubus torso on the ground near them, followed by a very irate black dragon.
‘The strumpet thought she could match me.’
Harry sheathed his sword and moved towards his dragon companion. “Not many could match you, my dear.”
‘Hmph.’ She turned towards him, and her yellow eyes bore into his, glowing like embers. ‘And what was that? Nearly falling for her trap?’ She lowered her head so she was at his eye level. ‘And bantering with those thugs? What were you thinking.’ Her tail moved as if of its own accord, snaking around Harry’s shoulders, pulling him closer towards the heat emanating dragoness.
He laid his hand on her snout and looked into her eyes. “It helps me focus, my dear. You know I would never leave you.”
‘And yet you almost did. You need to be more careful.’ Her tail tightened around him, bringing him all the way to her head.
“I know, my dear, I know.” He sighed, and spread his arms, doing his best to encompass her neck.