Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the characters. I only own the writing.

Warning: Implied male/male slash. Don't like it? Please disapparate.

A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed Nymphaëa – hope you're reading this, too. See note at the end.

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TRAIL OF DRAGONS

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Harry put down his quill, rolled up the parchment and rubbed his tired eyes. That assignment had been gnawing at him for the past week and, as usual, he had left it to the very last minute to finish it. But now it was done, and it wasn't a bad job, either. He stretched and yawned, quite pleased with himself even if it was one o'clock in the morning and he wouldn't get as much sleep as he needed.

He pointed his wand to turn out the lights, and the Gryffindor common room was dark and quiet, only the warm flickering light from the fire dancing over the walls. Harry got up from his chair and collected his things. He was about to head for the stairs when he heard a very small, clear voice say: "Harry. Harry Potter."

He started and looked around. He couldn't see anything out of the ordinary in the room, nothing moving. "Yes?"

"Harry. Look for the dragons."

His eyes caught a small movement on the back rest of one of the deep armchairs by the fireplace, and he went over to look. It was the tiniest dragon, perhaps three inches long from nose to tip of tail, shimmering in red and gold, folding its wings along its back and sitting down on its haunches, wrapping its tail neatly around itself in an almost feline fashion. It looked up at him with unblinking, bright yellow eyes, pupils like black vertical slits. It almost seemed to smile. Thin, white trails of smoke emerged from the minuscule nostrils.

"Follow the dragons!" it said, the small voice astonishingly imperious. And then the yellow eyes glazed over as the tiny form froze in its movements, and the little dragon turned into solid gold and ruby.

Harry picked it up and turned it over in his hand. No stirring motion there, no heat, not even a flicker of the tail. It was only a small, exquisite piece of jeweller's work, heavy and cool in his palm. Follow the dragons? His eyes wandered around the room. He saw something moving below the portrait hole, swinging lightly like a pendulum, and he went across to it. It was a chain with a dragon pendant, gently swinging as from an invisible hook. As he lifted it off the hook, the portrait swung open. He started in apprehension, expecting someone to enter, but nothing happened. It couldn't be someone with an Invisibility cloak, either; that person would have collided headlong with him. So… did that mean he should climb out?

He did. He stood for a moment in the chilly corridor and looked around cautiously, stuffing the chain and the golden dragon into the pocket of his jeans underneath his robes. At the top of the stairs, he saw another small object, and went to pick it up. It was a piece of parchment, folded twice and sealed, the stamp on the dark red wax depicting an intricately shaped dragon. Harry traced a finger over it thoughtfully and broke the seal. The block letters were neat and square, bold and orderly at the same time, written in green ink.

"Down the stairs and up again.
Stars can show what words can't say.
Towers reach into the sky.
Dragon fire leads the way."

Stars can show what words can't say... Harry stared at the piece of parchment, his face and ears hot. Knowing what the Astronomy Tower was usually used for, except watching stars, he felt both relieved and uneasy. At least it was no sinister quest this time. A challenge, perhaps, but of a new kind. It certainly wouldn't be Voldemort waiting for him in the Astronomy Tower. The things that this mysterious person would want to do to him would be a far cry from anything that Voldemort had thought up for him. An amused smile began to sparkle in Harry's eyes as he ran down the stairs, confident enough of its tricks now to take two steps at a time. The wizarding world parodied itself sometimes, he thought. In the wizarding world, you couldn't follow anything as prosaic as a trail of pebbles or breadcrumbs. No, it had to be a trail of dragons. He laughed and wondered if whoever was waiting for him was a Muggle, or did Muggle studies, and knew the tale.

At the bottom of the winding stairs leading up to the Astronomy Tower he found another dragon, a bookmark this time; a thin, flat oblong of some heavy, smooth, pale material, like ivory. It was an exquisite thing, like the others he had picked up. Both sides had a dragon painted on it, one red, one green, and they were the work of a master hand. Fine, serpentine lines curving, curling, feathering, flowing; parting and meeting again to fulfil their intention. The colours rich and deep, glowing faintly in the dim light. There were several people here who had the financial means to own objects like this, but Harry only knew of one who would truly appreciate their aesthetical value. A small shiver went through him as realisation hit. Dragons. Of course. But… could it really be….? Was it possible that the person waiting for him was…? But he just needed to look down at the bookmark in his hand to know. Know that it was not only possible, but likely. And his heart suddenly struggled like a wild, frantic bird trying to escape the restraining cage of his ribs.

* * *

In a small room with high narrow windows in the Astronomy Tower, Draco was curled up on the window seat. His face was turned towards the window although it was too dark for him to see anything. He didn't even notice. His mind was following the dragon trail from the Gryffindor common room, down the stairs, up the stairs… Object Placement spells were useful and very interesting, but students were not allowed to use them at Hogwarts. He had decided to run the risk of being caught tonight and used them anyway. They hadn't started on that kind of spells in Charms yet; it wouldn't be until later this term. That silly old git Flitwick seemed to think it was a too dangerous practice for students below the sixth year. Well, it probably could be dangerous unless you mastered the art as fully as Draco did. His father had taught it to him when he was only a child, well before he came to Hogwarts, and he had practised and perfected his skills, as he did with most things. There wasn't much that was worth having or doing if it was less than perfect.

He frowned. The person who was on his way here, following the trail of dragons, wasn't perfect by any standards, certainly not by Draco's own. It annoyed him, and it scared him a little, to find himself attracted to that kind of imperfection. To someone who didn't even seem to care about perfection. But, he thought, it might just be because I have an eye for potential. The material was excellent even if the finish wasn't. Harry could become perfect, given time. Given Draco's willing guidance.

He smiled to himself, thinking about the green eyes – they were perfect, at least – and the way they had sparkled yesterday as Harry had made an unusually clever, insinuating little joke that Draco had overheard, and been thrilled. Well, overheard was a euphemism. To be frank he had been eavesdropping, curious about what kind of conversations Harry had with the Weasel. He had been surprised at the warm, easy tone between them, both affectionate and completely relaxed. It had been a conversation between two people who knew each other so well there was no need for them to voice everything; they could skip whole parts and several logical steps of the conversation and still understand, knowing each other's mind so well they could read between very scanty lines.

Draco had never known anybody that well, and until recently he hadn't known he wanted to. He frowned again. It was disturbing to keep finding unwelcome needs and wishes in yourself, and it seemed that Harry was doing that to him all the time. Like the undignified need to hide under the stands to watch him fly, watch the incredibly sure and smooth turns and twists and the quick, precise swoops; to watch the intensity in his face, the excitement and the sensual pleasure. Like the wish to have that intensity directed at himself. Like the need to watch in fascination as the pink tip of Harry's tongue showed between his lips when he concentrated hard on something. Like the wish to pry that mouth open with his own tongue and invade it, force it to welcome him.

Draco shuddered and then tensed as he heard footsteps slow down and stop outside the door. He turned his head towards the room and waited.

* * *

Harry found the next dragon on a ledge at the landing. It was a small piece of parchment with a rough, minute drawing in green ink of a sleeping dragon, curled protectively around another sleeping form drawn in red ink, not very well executed but suggestive of a lion. Harry stared at the drawing and his hand began to shake so badly the picture blurred. He must know the tale. It can't be coincidence. I'm not starved for food, but I'm starved for love. He knows it. Harry pocketed the drawing and looked around the dimly lit corridor. There were three heavy oak doors on either side of it, and at the far end, narrow stairs lead up to the observatory itself. He walked hesitantly towards it.

Something glittered on the floor by the last door to the right. Harry picked it up. It was a beautifully worked piece of silver, small and delicate; the dragon's emerald eyes looking almost coyly up into his own, green flashing into green. Harry turned it over in his hand, marvelling at the exquisitely formed scales, the jagged ridge along the back and the tiny claws pricking his skin like fine, sharp needles. He looked from the lovely little dragon to the forbidding door and back again. Green and silver… And for a split second he could have sworn the dragon winked at him.

This must be the end of the trail. So… now he only had to open the door to see if he had been right. He took a deep breath, and another, to try to calm the nervous, anticipatory heat that began to spread through his body and made his heart beat erratically and so loud he thought it would wake up the entire castle. Yes, this was the end of the trail, and he only had to open the door to find… well, hopefully not the wicked witch. What he wanted was the wicked wizard.

He grinned to himself as he closed one hand around the silver dragon and lifted the other to turn the doorknob.

~ END ~

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A/N: Love to all who reviewed Nymphaëa! HoshiShoujoKageShinigamiBUNNYB (whew!), bosch, Remy, EuropaMoon, ebony, thanks so much. Special thanks to dramaqueen, you're my most faithful reviewer. chrisseee667, so glad you thought it was like poetry. lady drea, thank you – I do write other things than fanfic! Girlie-O, you know, I never even thought of that LOTR allusion? I've read LOTR a hundred times and I absolutely love that scene, so I'm sure it was lurking at the back of my mind. Thanks for pointing it out to oblivious!Penguin. : ) darklites, love you as always; gush all you want! Altricial, "like a dream", huh. *blush* Don't know what to say except you're a gem.