Stranger in two bodies

Weirdness is a state of being

Harry had never really been normal, even by the standards of people who wantonly distorted reality at a whim, so it really should not have come as a surprise that his attempt to emulate the greatest achievement of his fathers adolescence had turned out rather strange. Harry had taken to trying the animagus transformation simply to take his mind off the world. Ginny had been less than receptive to anything resembling a proper relationship, she seemed to think he should have handed her his vault key and simply gotten on with providing. The response from everybody else around with some few notable exceptions had also been less than sterling. Britain had near unanimously declared their personal hit wizard and all around garbage disposal man, after a few too many run ins with politicians actually backed by public opinion he'd come up with his own terms to which they had readily agreed. So he'd gone travelling, one year home, seeing to the troubles of home lest they start up a manhunt as had been threatened and one year away to do whatever he wanted, just until they found their next whipping boy.

He'd been meditating, the potion had shown him a blurry mass mixed with a multitude of sensations that he couldn't put his finger on as belonging to any single sense. Touch, smell, vision, hearing even taste had all blended. That was expected, the journey to finding your inner animal required the adaptation of the human experience to comprehend and welcome that of the animal in order to achieve even the beginnings of physical progress. Even him taking an entire extra year away from Britain and the not so subtle demands for his return, to sort the mess out wasn't any cause for concern, only some mild impatience. The reinforcement of being once again off side to the normality belonging to everybody but him, came strangely enough not in one of his meditation sessions but as he was walking along the beach in Marseilles. Something inside him had surged, it had felt as if something had uncoiled from the deepest part of his being, sprouted wings and promptly exploded roaring inside his body and consumed him in fire. Later, after being picked up by the French aurors he was told he'd been found on the beach, in a crater, surrounded by still cooling glass. This, once he'd calmed enough to think led him to the conclusion that his form must be of fire and magic.

After that incident the answers came together quickly, his magic had shifted, as it did for every witch or wizard who progressed sufficiently along the animagus path and was now undeniably more aggressive if the frightened looks he was now getting was any indication. He could now cast flame spells with so much ease and intensity that he'd accidentally managed to generate a column of fire 30 metres long and 5 metres wide when all he wanted was a small gout of flame to light a log fire, the resorts hotel manager was not pleased and had accused him of building a bomb. It also didn't help that it now felt good to use fire. The rest of the picture came from revisiting the potion induced vision. Flight was a definite, as was the sensation of continuous warmth, and the hunger was so immense he got stomach cramps recalling it. What really brought it all together however was the sight of far to large claws picking up a far, far to small deer, carrying it into the sky and then the prompt and unsatisfying single bite that followed. Harry was a dragon, an intemperate, fire breathing multi tonne flying tank of a creature with an appetite to match. Additionally he'd reached the point that his subconscious couldn't really stop trying to accommodate the difference in human and now dragon, with the beach incident, the dam in his mind separating human Harry from dragon Harry had broken. He'd already had to consciously stop himself salivating at the sight of livestock in paddocks just begging to be carried off as they instinctively bolted away from him. The easiest behaviour to hide was he now much preferred his meat somewhat more char grilled than before.

Harry needed to disappear and get a handle on just what was going on in his mind. He had already discounted the idea of getting outside help as the only known way to stop the process of loosing yourself to the animal within was to get someone else, who you trusted implicitly, to overwhelm your own mind with their own thoroughly human one whilst retaining your own identity separate to the emerging animal. That would be possible if his form wasn't a dragon, and he strongly suspected probably unnecessary considering his mental fortitude in the face of Veelas and imperios alike. If he had been any normal, non-magical animal Harry would have gotten the nearest qualified mind healer. Bound them with the multitude of oaths required and gone ahead. But the dragon was possessive, and nothing could surpass yourself as a possession and Harry couldn't help but agree. Unfortunately in one sense the dragon was already Harry, or rather of Harry, the inner reflection of any number of the facets that comprised his being, the suppressed, and the expressed rolled into one magically charged bundle of sympathetic resonance determined appropriate by his own mind. So he'd abandoned any ideas of staying near people and headed to the closest place in Europe he might go unnoticed simply for its magical reserve that included dragons, the German black forest. It took a few weeks before Harry really started having problems functioning in the outside world and was forced to hike, the dragon that already was and fast becoming him and him the dragon had started actively using magic, not in any spell per se but generating it and accumulating it. Storing it within himself in preparation for the last phase of the process, transformation.

He could feel his body radiating with it, energy, he couldn't contain it, he had tried and had caused a tree to combust when a stray strand of magic escaped him, and it hurt to contain even the slightest amount. Normally the magic would gather within a persons core, then expand in a wave which leave the person changed Successive useages of the magic would enable the person to progress the transformation as they learnt to control its spread and identify just what it was doing and consciously reapply it, at least thats what was supposed to happen. Harry was simply radiating too much magic to even try and grasp something as intricate as how his bone structure might be changing. It just wouldn't stop growing, the magic was expanding, he was in a secluded little patch of forest deep in the german black forest that he'd come across when moving away from populated locations. The amount of magic he was giving off tipped of the authorities as to his whereabouts the moment he came near anywhere with people as he'd found after he'd purchased some dragon hide clothing only to have to dodge aurors trying to stop him, so not allowing him to get a portkey or floo. So here he was, glowing like a bluebell flame on steroids, body making noises that wouldn't go amiss in a meat grinder and trying his damnedest not to give in and start torching the woods. He wouldn't have cared so much if he was in a desert as and isn't flammable but the forest provided some security from people due to its wards and in his current condition he was surprised he'd made it this far, just had to hope no other creatures found him and thought him an easy meal. Harry writhed on the ground, his form distorting and rippling his mind liquefying under the onslaught of the dragon, wisps of steam and tiny puffs of smoke came from the ground below as a tongue of flame issued from his screaming mouth, just as a swirling vortex of bright light descended from the sky.

Carried off, landing and going noticed

Harry raged, he was moving and not under his own power, all he had was a sensation of falling and blinding light, something had locked his wings in place. He belched flame, hoping to incinerate whoever was presumptuous enough to try and take a dragons flight from them. He rent the air with his claws but found nothing, his wings would not unfurl, whatever was holding them down would not let him go. So he screamed, bucked, flamed and lashed out with all the magic he could muster at the air around him. Something swatted him on the nose and he was paralysed. An amused voice filled his mind and he could do nothing but listen even as he raged and fell.

'Petulance will get you nowhere young drake, if you don't want to end up splattered over the mountains you'll stop throwing your magic up and maybe you'll start pointing it down. You can use your wings now by the way. Wonder what a dragon with a human mind and wizards core can accomplish, don't disappoint now, Manwe and I have high hopes.'

Harry's winged unfurled, and with a great blast of magic managed to still himself in the air metres from the ground. The land beneath him suffered for this, rock and tree where blasted away from his form and he gently lowered himself to the ground. Unfettered, Harry scanned the sky, looking for whatever it was that had paralysed him. Growling with smoke rising from his mouth Harry snorted at the sky, if he ever met whatever that was again, he would destroy and devour it. For now, he needed food, and preferably shelter. A small part of him urged him to find a reflective surface, he was curious as to what he looked like, an even smaller but more insistent part of him directed his mind to the likely unpopulated peaks that surrounded him. Breathing in Harry tasted the air something smelt foul, he wasn't going to sully his nose with it for any stretch of time he would find a better location to look. Decision made and with a final huff, Harry the dragon began his search for an appropriate cave, then he would hunt.

His abrupt landing had not gone unnoticed, a small party of misshapen creatures had been patrolling the mountain paths when the dragon had very nearly landed on top of them. They had immediately scrambled for safety as the drake descended, the few who had tried to run had been blown away along with most of the loose terrain as the huge black dragon had descended near gently landing on all fours despite the havoc its wings had already wrought. None dared emerge from their positions on the ground. They watched as the dragon turned its head to the sky, snorted and drew in a great breathe which caused them all to bury themselves deeper into the ground, expecting to be incinerated they were surprised when it instead promptly took flight. Slowly they emerged from the rock piles. Nag, the patrol captain shouted at his fellow orcs and lead the stampede back down the path towards Gundabad, he was not going to hang around if a dragon was on the prowl. He'd feel much safer in the ransacked dwarf hold, and he was sure the news might mean a reward. He could only hope the dragon didn't have similar ideas about the old dwarf hold.

Gandalf or Olorin as his fellow Istari knew him as was near gaping at the north, pipe hanging precariously from his lips. He'd seen a ball of fire and light illuminate the northern sky, but he'd also felt the magic, another dragon. One strong enough to send ripples of power stirring from several hundred miles at least. This would not go unnoticed even by those without sensitivity to magic, if Gandalf had seen it from here, all the way in the ruins of Lond Daer he was certain near every settlement from Florindon to Harad would soon know about it. He needed to speak with the council, and act before Sauron's shade turned his attention even more north. Two active dragons in the world, the outlook for middle earth was looking bleaker by the day, action needed to be taken soon. He could only hope this newcomer went to the northern wastes, at least until Smaug had been dealt with. But for now he had a certain dwarf to find, and a request for the Dunedain.

Expunging smells and settling in.

Harry had found and settled for a rocky outcrop not far from his original landing site. Liberal use of his flame had melted the stone into slag, fashioning a rough cave for him to inhabit until he could find a better site. He had plenty of prey in the area, deer and mountain goat in abundance populated the area. His only complaint was the smell, it came strongest from the west when the wind blew and it had made him gag the first time it had assaulted his nostrils. Old blood, excrement, rust, decay and something strange but foul underlying all the others is what wafted across the mountainous terrain every time the wind blew. It was driving him to distraction. It was getting to the point were he was seriously considering eradicating whatever it was from existence.

Day's past and Harry hunted, the hunger never truly abated, something was missing that simple prey could not fulfil, so instead he flew for the pleasure of flying. It was on one of his flights that he ventured to the west, he had so far avoided it due to the pungent odour but his curiosity lead him to soaring high above the peaks and through the clouds. Directly to the south was a great expanse of forest, even high in the clouds Harry could not see its end, it was covered in some sort of haze that made depth perception difficult. To his south east, a solitary peak sat alone in the foot hills edging to the plains that stretched beyond it. But due west, wedged between the mountain peaks he currently inhabited and another greater chain that extended north to South was a fortress. By human standards it would have been impressive albeit in disrepair, tall towers situated ontop of the mountains that connected the mountain chains, and in the one narrow depression that cut the connection between the chains a solid looking tower made from metal and stone. Dropping to a lower height he could make out shapes milling around its base, and on its exposed surfaces. They seemed humanoid but the few he could make out on the overlooking towers where decidedly not of any species he had ever encountered, and the small bits of the language they were using that he could hear sent several unpleasant sensations through his body. The voice in the back of his head urged him to turn back east, he was getting noticeably hungry and there was deer to be had. Just as he was about to turn away the smell hit him. Its disgusting odour was several times worse here than anywhere before. Eyes narrowing at the oblivious creatures below he folded his wings and dove. One way or another, these creatures would be stopped from continuing to irritate him. Dragons did not tolerate irritants.

Nag had been busy protecting his grog from the other orcs with his cleaver, his reward for being the first to bring news about the dragon, when the roof exploded. It caved in with a boom that sent him tumbling from his seat in the lookout post, it was only this that spared his life. Immediately following the roof was an inferno that poured from the sky into the room and incinerated most of the orcs that had been trying to murder him that hadn't been crushed by the destroyed ceiling. From his position on the floor he could hear screams, yells and more sounds of breaking masonry followed by a great beating noise. Scrambling to where the window had been Nag had to grip the broken stonework as a shudder ran through the tower. Swearing in the black speech Nag caught site of the cause. The dragon had come back, and it was destroying everything it could find. Its form was huge, it towered above the lookout tower its wings beating slowly as it hovered. Its glowing green eyes regarded him before its black scaled hide rippled as it opened its mouth to reveal teeth longer than a warg, the last thing Nag ever saw was his flagon of grog disappearing in the fire as the world turned orange then black.

The insects were trying to shoot him, with arrows. He would have laughed if there weren't so many of the damn things. He kept strafing the fort with fire, gouging holes in its sides and flattening any groups of the damn things with his tail but still they kept coming, he'd been surprised to see that they kept oversized dogs as pets which had promptly ran in terror at the site of him. Also they had seemingly domesticated several larger rather brutish looking things that didn't have the sense to run and made satisfying crunching noises when he smacked them. So far he'd already taken care of the mountain top towers, they were little more than cooling slag and broken stone. The fort proper though was proving more difficult. The little creatures were running everywhere, he was having trouble making sure they all burned. More of the things were shooting at him from the windows and ledges of the fort. Spying what must be the main door he charged it. It wasn't enough to even mildly impede him. Bursting through in a shower of rotten wood and broken stone he promptly set about filling the place with fire. With swipes of his claws he demolished walls and swatted the insects. The creatures were running from him now, not outside though, but further in, he could smell and hear more below getting further away from him. A cave system perhaps? Several of the larger creatures were running for him wielding hammers and long spears. With a growl he promptly snared one in his mouth and bit down. Retching in disgust, he promptly spat it out and let loose a roar that shook the ground and proceeded to smash the rest to bloody pulp and reduce the corpses to ashes. This place was now his and none of these foul things would survive.

It took him another day before he was satisfied that he'd scoured or rather scorched the place clean of any lingering evidence of the previous inhabitants. Harry was happy, he'd found the caves to be far more well made than the ruin, albeit the ruin of his own making up above. Even his size did not hinder him as much as he thought it would and with some careful digging he was sure he could enlarge it further. What really pleased him however was the cache he had discovered. He'd come across it after chasing down the last few of the insects, a large room that he could open his wings fully in and not touch the sides. It had also had the strongest door he'd found. It had taken a full minute before it had given way. It had contained several chests behind a raised stone chair and the chests had contained precious metals and gems. He was fascinated by the tiny shirt of metal he'd found, it smelt and felt wonderful. The rest made him feel good to look at but the metal of the shirt had been his first taste of magic in this place, it was proof that there was magic here and it sparked his curiosity to heights greater than his hunger. If he focused he could practically taste it, the magic. His one lament right now was he had so little, perhaps the creatures had other places like this? Perhaps they had more, more things or even people with magic. The not so little anymore voice in his head suggested a not impossible idea, perhaps if he changed he could even wear the magic shirt, and therefore be surrounded by its magic. For now though he had a new home to remodel to better reflect his own grandeur, then he would make sure no one could steal what was his.

All eyes on you, Harry.

The agents of the enemy had outpaced him but not enough to end Durins line. He'd heard tell of Thorin working as a smith for men in Bree, and hastened to find him. On the way he'd had to deal with no less than three parties of brigands and vagabonds, each with orders written in the black speech to dispose of Thorin. Now that he was in Bree he was keeping a protective vigil over the unknowing dwarf and waiting for his chance to speak with him. He knew Thorin would agree to any attempt to retake Erebor and end Smaug, but there was no help to be had without the arkenstone. He only hoped the presence of the other dragon did not hamper his plans.

Thranduil had taken to pacing his throne room, he'd already doubled the guard, sent armed couriers to both Rivendell and Lorien, and forbidden Legolas from travelling further than a 20 mile radius away from the centre of the woodland realm. Fingering the glamour covered injury even as the pain of its inception echoed in his memory Thranduil contemplated the new Wyrm. Reports suggested it was confining itself to the grey mountains, due north of his domain. Was it in league with the remnants of Angmar, or perhaps it had tired of the bland inhospitable conditions of the Forodwaith. Thranduil did not think it likely that another Wyrm should appear scant decades after Smaug descended upon Erebor without purpose. His scouts had told him it was black and appeared smaller than the estimates of Smaug but not by much, living in a realm comprised near entirely of forest thranduil felt vulnerable. Whilst this new wyrm was active he could not afford to relax vigilance. Any move south would mean martial law for the woodland realm, the stirrings from Dol Guldur and the increasingly aggressive menace that was Ungoliants brood may prompt such a course anyway. For now he'd keep his borders closed and wait for word from the other elf lords, they might provide useful advice.

Galadriel was puzzled, her mirror showed her the new dragon, but the dragon was not behaving as she would expect. It had spent a great deal of time hunting as active Wyrms do, it had even created itself a rudimentary lair which she had carefully noted the location of. But what confused her was that it had raised the fortress of Gundabad, a fortress that she had thought abandoned until she had seen the battle for herself. She did not know why the dragon had attacked, dwarves hoarded vast stores of precious metals which dragons coveted, but Gundabad, although once a dwarf hold had long been sacked. Dragons did not normally turn on the creatures of darkness and the Yrch posed little threat to a fire drake unless in overwhelming numbers. A dragon might absentmindedly kill a few for daring to intrude on their territory but not with any form of the systematic determination that this black drake had shown. As she looked into the mirror she could not help second guess all she knew about dragons as she watched it slowly inspect a mithril shirt, disregarding the meagre store of gold and gems the deceased Yrch commander had hoarded. Celeborn had already been notified regarding the know dispersed Yrch force and a message had been dispatched to Thranduil. Galadriel turned from the mirror, the white council would need to be informed.

Laketown was abuzz with talk of the new dragon, fear had gripped the town. Smaug's attack upon Erebor was well remembered and his presence was felt as a shadow even as they carried on. But Smaug had not emerged from the mountain in decades, the new drake might rouse him. That would spell disaster, they could not apply to the elves for help, thranduil had closed his borders. Only barrels came out of the woods, and only wine went back in. Rohan and Gondor would not take them in without due cause. The dwarfs of the iron hills had not been seen since Erebor fell. No assistance could be counted on. Should Smaug or this new drake come, they would be on their own. Despite all this the town continued on as normal, the leaders of the town assured them that Smaug would not rouse, the new drake would not come south. Perhaps they were right? Few wanted to admit to the possibilities to the contrary.

Dol Guldur was a hive of carefully hidden activity. Its forges rang across day and night never resting, protected by the same veil of magic that concealed the growing army within its weathered walls. Wargs wrestled in their pits urged on by orcs as trolls pulled great loads of ore to the forges. Giant spiders hid in the dark corners spinning webs, feasting on any orc stupid enough to wander into their embrace. The sorcery that encompassed and concealed Dol Guldur in a careful illusion even from the elf witch was tethered to a shade, the disembodied remnant of Sauron. The essence of Sauron had latched itself to this place, providing the energy to fuel the veil as he accumulated his strength by siphoning a fragment of the life of the creatures below into himself and returning a dark, twisted sliver of shadow in its place, empowering his own minions and poisoning the greenwood. The wraiths attended him, spirits liberated from their sealed crypts by the blood sacrifice of his agents. Too weak to remain corporeal for long, they like their master had tethered themselves to the structure of Dol Guldur, but rather than its entirety they flitted between its statues, silent and watchful. Sauron paused in his working, his attention diverted to the new drake. This was no creation of Morgoth, the magic it had spewed forth only a few days ago had told him that much, it carried none of the taint that was imbued in everyone of the first dark lords creations, and his own. It felt in part, strangely like the Numenorians but with a spice to its magic that Sauron had only felt in a scant few elves. Two dragons, one different to the rest of Morgoths creations and both all the unbridled destructive potential he could hope for in a vanguard. Perhaps he should accelerate his plans, after he had finished his working against the greenwood, and after he had broken the pitiful remnant of Durins line. Without Durins line, the arkenstone had no clear claimant, and the dwarves would remain fragmented, the contingent on its way to Gundabad would ensure victory, when the time came.

Shrinking pains, stepping out.

Harry was not happy, the insects were back and they'd brought a lot of friends. He was circling above the peaks watching the long contingent snake its way towards his home. There were a lot of them, thousands if he was any judge, and they were packing some far more serious armament than spears and bows. He could take the fight to them whilst they were exposed but that many would pose a serious problem even for him, he was not happy to admit it but there was no escaping the fact. Thinking over the problem, he wanted to return to his new domain and let them come but reason stated that would be suicide. He was loathe to admit it but perhaps it was time to think like a human rather than a dragon. Focusing inward, he allowed the other him to asses the situation. He didn't like what it suggested, but there really was little else that he could come up with. He hadn't lost his sense of self preservation after all.

The wargs were getting antsy, every mile closer to Gundabad they became more unruly and Darsh had already lost three handlers to the blasted things. Swearing at his other orcs he laid about him with his whip to encourage the worthless worms to hurry up. Darsh would be the next one dead if the wargs didn't get moving, the commander would have his head and feed him to the bloody things if he failed. This carried on for several hours, slowly the wargs obeyed the lash, helped along by the deaths of another 4 handlers and the serious maiming of another. Darsh had maimed the runt personally in order to show the commander he was still useful, and thus buy himself some extra time. They had left the foothills sometime ago and had entered the mountain canyon that led to Gundabad, Darsh could smell smoke, they must be getting close. Another hour later and Darsh nearly lost his arm as the wargs simply dug their heels in and stopped, they were looking to the sky and growling. Liberal use of the lash and his barbed spear did little to get them moving again. Panicking he redoubled his efforts when he noticed the column had stopped entirely. He would not be killed simply because some bloody dogs didn't like being in the mountains. Darsh didn't look away from the warg he was facing down when the horn sounded, he did however look up when the roar shook the canyon. Darsh was dead moments later, you do not take your eyes off an agitated warg when it is barely a metre from you, even when there's a dragon.

Grudgingly Harry implemented the voices plan, he'd reached for the ball of human magic hidden inside the flame that comprised his own. He'd let the voice guide him in its use and felt it take hold. He could no longer hear himself. Skirting the canyon path, careful to stay out of sight he went along with the plan. Take a boulder, move it to the lip of the canyon path, repeat on both sides until the majority of the column entered the canyon. He was tempted to tell the voice to go away and let him flame the little creatures, but it was insistent. He was getting impatient. Boulders were in position, the insects moved agonisingly slow along the ground, it took another hour of sluggish movement before he couldn't stand the tedium anymore. Letting loose a challenge, he launched himself from the cliff-side and dove for the mouth of the canyon. Maybe a taste of his flame would hurry the creatures up.

The column halted as one and stared at the sky. The roar had been far too close and shaken the canyon under them with its strength, Screams rent the air as the rumbling did not subside, but this time the cause was all too clear. Boulders, larger than trolls were falling upon them. The column lost its cohesion, boulders bounced and rolled, crushing orcs by the dozen. The wargs were howling, snapping at their handlers as they fought to control them. Trolls bellowed and stumbled, confused at the noises and rumbling of the ground. Silence briefly befell the army as a gust of wind barreled down the canyon, extinguishing every torch and sending many off their feet. Light bloomed from the mouth of the canyon and another roar rent the air. The wargs bolted, stampeding handlers and tossing riders. The trolls tried stood idle, still unsure. The orcs were panicking. A horn echoed from the head of the column, punctuated by several short blasts. Order came back to the column as horns took up the call. Enemy, attack. Flames and screams roared from the mouth of the canyon. Bellowed orders rang through the canyon. "GET THE BALLISTAS UP! OR I'LL PERSONALY GUT YOU WITH YOUR OWN KNIFE!." The wind came again, sending many to the ground. A shadow against the sky was briefly illuminated in another gout of flame. The orcs scrambled, prodding the trolls into lifting the ballistas off their carts. In the minutes it took to get the first assembled, several dozen more flames raked the sides of the canyon incinerating scores of orcs, wargs and trolls. The dragon landed in the canyon, a foot perched over a boulder as it brought a claw down on four trolls, turning them to paste. The first ballista fired, its bolt struck the dragons flank. Startled the dragon reared, its head swivelled, found the culprit and let loose with its flame. More bolts came from the dark masses, the dragons scales held firm, but forced it airborne with a frustrated shriek.

He circled the canyon, he had blocked both entrance and exit. The creatures however where climbing the rocks even as he spoke, some were even braving the cliffs themselves. He would not allow them to escape. No matter what the voice urged him to do. Lining up at the northern end of the canyon, he tucked his wings, dove and let loose a long stream of flame. Orange and blue flame filled the stretch of canyon he passed over. Screams followed, and bolts whistled past. Grumbling at the attempts to shoot him, he lined up another pass. They were getting better at aiming. Several bolts came extremely close to hitting on that last pass. The voice came back, in that petulant tone that indicated it would not go away until he listened. It urged him to use more of the human magic, to become unseen, not simply unheard. He dove, again and again, ignoring the voice. It wasn't until a bolt scratched under his eye that he gave in. He sought altitude. The canyon was alight, corpses burning adding to the light the relit torches were giving off. Lost in the night sky, he reached inward, felt past the flame and again let the voice guide him. He shuddered, the magic was cold, he couldn't use his flame or the magic would break. He felt weakened by the magic, but he could not see himself, only a strange shimmer, not unlike a ripple in the water. Again, he dove for the canyon path, talons poised.

Pandemonium, sheer and utter chaos described the early morning hours of the canyon path. Orc bodies flew into the air from unseen assailants. Trolls found themselves flattened against the walls of the canyon as a tail they could not see swatted. Carts were tipped and crushed. No roars, no flame, no rushing wind heralded the new destruction being wrought. The wargs had long since run, scrambling desperately up the cliff sides or over the rocks blocking the path. The ballistas were splintered and shattered. When dawn broke, devastation was the testament of the nights activities. The canyon was strewn with ash and corpses. The threat had been dealt with, the dragon had left, only carrion eaters inhabited the path, attracted by the unforeseen bounty.

The dragon stumbled, knocking over a pillar as it returned to its subterranean lair. The magic, the human magic refused to give way to the flame. He felt as if he had aged a thousand years in just one night. His strength was waning, making his way to his small hoard, the dragon carefully plucked the shirt from its resting place. Seeking solace in its unblemished enchantment. He lost his footing and came to the floor with a crash that shook the fortress ruin up above. He staggered back to his feet. The flame was dimming, smothered. The human magic was growing, rippling through his body in agonising waves. Curse the voice! Had he the strength he would tear it from his mind if he only knew how. Body wracked with pain the dragon drew one long deep breath and let loose the last of its flame in one long stream that melted a broken pillar to slag. He closed his eyes and let his consciousness fade, the room was rent with the sound of bone snapping and pulverising flesh. Harry keeled over into the raised stone chair as the change was completed. Groaning, he held the chainmail shirt to his chest and allowed the pain to take him into sleep.