Hello! I realize I should be updating my Wakfu story... I'm working on it but the next few chapters are proving a little difficult. You can see this (which has been sitting in my library for a while now) as a new years gift.

And about the dragon tongue, I used greek because its apparently based on ancient greek, but that wasn't an option in google translator, so excuse me if it's completely wrong. Translations are at the bottom. Happy New Year everyone! :D

I don't own Merlin or Harry Potter.

„Thanks a lot Ernie! Good luck with your script, Stan!", a figure called as he hopped off of the Knightbus at Hogsmead waving to the driver. The man seemed young, no older than 25, and stuck out like a sore thumb in the bleak autumn weather surrounding the small magical community. The weather was cold, the wind and heavy grey clouds promising rain, yet the man seemed wholly unaffected by it in his yellow hawai shirt with the pineapple and palm tree print, his light blue shorts and green flip-flops. He waited until the bus vanished around a bend, adjusted the sunglasses resting on his unruly black hair and set off towards Hogwarts. He couldn't quite keep the skip out of his step as his magic hummed beneath his skin, resonating with the magic around him.

The school gates swung open for him, welcoming their master and protector. It felt good to be home, thought the warlock with a broad smile. It tickled at the back of his mind when the wards sent their reports to him. He briefly looked over them and soon knew that the beautiful castle coming into view on the hilltop currently sat there in silence as its residents and guests were all gathered at the Quidditch pitch.

There must be some kind of event going on, the warlock mused. And so he adjusted his course and skipped along the forbidden forest in anticipation. He waved amicably at the centaurs and unicorns trotting along just beyond the treeline that came to greet him.

He could almost see the arena when a roar, gutteral and angry, tore through the sky. The warlock stopped in his tracks. He would recognize that sound anywhere. Something animalistic, feral and protective stirred inside him as he saw the form of a Hungarian Horntail streak through the sky. Immediatly he was sprinting to the arena.

After all, what could possibly anger one of his kin in such a way?

Chaos ensued as the Hungarian Horntail let loose a horrendous roar, tore free of its chains and launched itself into the air after the terrified student. Dumbledore only spared a brief glance to the dragon tamers swarming into the arena and hoped they could get the dragon back under control before it could kill Harry. Meanwhile, the headmaster had some crowd control to attempt.

He turned to the panicked audience and, while magically enhancing his voice, ordered them to „calmly file out of the stands and follow the teachers and tournament officials to the tents outside the stadium". Most listened, thankfully, but they wouldn't be a panicked crowd if they weren't, well... panicking. It was still chaotic as students pushed and tripped, trying to get down the stairs and out of the arena. Dumbledore quickly lost sight of his teachers, hoping they would have some luck contolling the crowd's direction. He was so distracted that he didn't notice the black haired man, dressed in a yellow hawai shirt enter the arena together with some of the dragon tamers.

He did however notice when a voice, resonating with power, cut through the tumultous sounds around him.

„WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON HERE?!"

Silence. Everything stopped short, stopped moving, stopped screaming and looked at the man. The lanky, black haired man with the yellow hawai shirt with pineapple and palm tree print, light blue shorts, green flip-flops and the sunglasses resting on top of his head. His arms spread wide, as if he were inviting an answer, he stood there in the center of the rocky arena, staring incredulously at the crowd.

„Master Emrys", Dumbledore mumbled. Immediatly Emrys' glare zeroed in on the headmaster. To his credit, Dumbledore didn't flinch – barely.

„Albus", he man named Emrys, who was apparently powerful enough to warrant the old wizard to call him master, acknowledged. „What is going on here."

Nobody moved. Nobody dared to move. That wasn't a question. That was a demand for an explanation. And Dumbledore began sweating. „Ah, well... you see..."

Emrys raised an eyebrow making him look that much more intimidating. (How someone in a hawaian shirt managed to look so frightening in that situation, nobody will ever know.)

„The Triwizard Tournament is being held at Hogwarts this year and getting a golden egg from a dragon is the first task", Dumbledore hurriedly replied.

Emrys blinked. He then slowly turned towards the nest full of dragon eggs to his left, let his gaze sweep over each of the dragon tamers and then up to the sky over to where the castle stood. He then wordlessly turned back to the crowd.

Emrys took a deep breath. Then he smiled (though it didn't reach his eyes). „Could you repeat that please? Because it sounded like you made students. Deliberatly. Anger. Dragon mothers."

Dumbledore paled. „Well um, i-if you put it that way..."

Emrys was about to retort when a student on a broom zoomed past him and made a grab for the dragon's egg. However, just as suddenly the Horntail dropped from the sky, roaring fire at the humans in the ring. Shocked, the audience could do nothing but watch as the entire ring was engulfed in white-hot flames, making it impossible to see what had become of the dragon tamers, the champion and Emrys. Until-

„O drákon! Proséxte tin entolí mou, chalaróste ton eaftó sas!" (*1)

The flames immediatly stopped. And the sight the audience beheld next simply took away their breath.

For in the arena's center, right before the angry dragon stood Emrys. Dragon tamers and the champion – Harry Potter – all stood or sat around him unharmed, the last of the golden shields disappearing as suddenly as they had appeared, protecting everybody from the dragon's fire. But as if that wasn't enough, the dragon bowed. The dragon bowed its head to the lanky man before him. It seemed to have calmed down. Then it growled at the man, stringing a long line of growls, hisses and small roars together.

Wait, was it talking?

Emrys seemed to understand, because he nodded along. Then the dragon shifted its gaze to Harry, who clung to the golden egg like his life depended on it – which it probably did. Another low growl came from the dragon, its tongue flicking out at the young wizard.

Emrys frowned. „Chalaróste. Koitáxte prosektiká, aftó den eínai to avgó sas." (*2)

The dragon tilted its head curiously. Its tongue flicked out from between its fangs again, seeming to taste the air like its smaller reptilian relatives. The beast then sniffed and blew a warm gust of air in Harry's face. Without another glance it turned back to Emrys and bowed again.

Emrys smiled, apparently satisfied with the outcome. „Pigaínete píso sti foliá sas. Afíste tous anthrópous na sas féroun píso stis periochés foliás sas. Zitó sygnómi gia tin anastátosi." (*3)

The dragon growled again, deep and affectionate this time, and bowed again before turning away from the oddly dressed warlock and curling up around its nest. Emrys smiled and nodded at the dragon tamers, who took that as their cue to carefully approach the Hungarian Horntail.

Emrys turned to Harry and offered him a hand. The boy hesitated only a moment before grabbing it and being helped off the ground. Emrys' eyes lingered on the lightning shaped scar for a second longer than necessary and his brows drew together.

Dumbledore up in the stands let out a relieved sigh. That could have gotten really bad, he thought. (Although he wasn't entirely sure if he was talking about the dragon or Emrys' wrath... probably both.) Putting his reassuring, grandfatherly smile back on Dumbledore clapped his hands. „Well, now that that is taken care of, we should all-"

„Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Sit down."

Dumbledore sat down.

He gulped when he saw the glowering expression of Master Emrys. He'd rather take on the dragon right now. Emrys took a step towards him. Then another. And another. The next one stopped in mid air. An invisible current seemed to sway Emrys clothes and tousle his hair as he made his way up to Dumbledore walking on invisible stairs, each step echoing around the silent arena.

Dumbledore fingered his wand hidden up his sleeve and briefly played with the thought of escaping. But seeing the swirling, molten gold in his master's angry eyes immediatly destroyed that idea. He'd never make it.

Emrys came to a stop right infront of the now almost cowering headmaster. He crossed his arms and tapped his foot. Dumbledore was sweating bullets now.

„Albus."

Hesitantly Dumbledore looked up at the angry warlock.

„I was only gone for fifty years. Fifty measly years. And what do I find when I'm back?"

Dumbledore didn't answer. (He knew this was a rhetorical question.)

„I come back", Emrys continued, „to find a dragon attacking a student. The last time that happened was in 1598, shortly before the first dragon sanctuaries were formed. Back then I had to intervene, too, but unlike this time, that had been an accident. This time, this time I find its part of the Triwizard Tournament! The goddamn Triwizard Tournament!" Emrys roared at the headmaster, who this time actually flinched. „You remember why that thing was forbidden? Because I do! And as if that wasn't stupid enough you decide using nesting dragons as the first task is a good idea?! ARE YOU MAD?! I thought I taught you better!"

The audience felt distincly uncomfortable as they watched Dumbledore – freakin' Albus Dumbledore, the only wizard He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is afraid of – hunch his shoulders and shift uncomfortably before this weird man in the hawaian shirt like a kid being scolded by his mother.

„Oh, I'm not finished yet!", Emrys exclaimed, pointing an angry finger at the old wizard. „You better have a good explanation for the guy posing as a teacher-", the finger suddenly landed on Mad Eye Moody, who went distinctly pale, „-and the Horcrux stuck to one of your fourth year students!" This time the finger flew towards Harry Potter.

„Huh?", Harry asked confused as the teachers and some of the older audience gasped in shock.

Fake-Moody tried to slip out of the crowd in the shocked silence that followed. He didn't make it far. He hadn't even taken two steps when he heard Emrys snap his fingers. „Oh no you don't!", he said and suddenly fake-Moody found himself bound and gagged floating four feet off the ground. Another gasp went around the crowd as with another snap of Emrys' fingers the polyjuice potion lost its effect and revealed a very pale Barty Crouch Jr.

Emrys nodded to himself, satisfied with the bound criminal floating over a stunned crowd and turned back to Dumbledore. One of his eyebrows rose again. „Well?", he addressed the open-mouthed headmaster.

„I'm waiting."

Translations:

(*1) Oh dragon! Heed my command, calm yourself!

(*2) Relax. Look closely, that is not your egg.

(*3) Go back to your nest. Let the humans take you back to your nesting grounds. I apologize for the inconvenience.