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Bless the girl who severed his chains.
For her humanity, he allowed the small humans to ride astride his back, gathering the heat in his throat and breathed his fire, relishing the gargled, agonized howls of the Dangerous Kind below their feet; it was beautiful to hear after sixty long years in the dark, dank bowels of the Wizard’s bank, the only company the rats, the only sounds the drip drip drip of a sulfuric-smelling liquid trickling from the stalactites.
It was exhilarating, the scratching of his claws against solid stone as he climbed the walls, the delicious stretching of muscle he’d long forgotten he possessed. And when he broke through the ceiling into a brightly lit chamber filled with crystals and diamonds, gold and silver, the Dangerous Kind staring at him with awe and fear in their eyes, he took pleasure in their horrified screams as he, once again, breathed his fire.
He was so close now. So close to freedom he could smell it.
He kept moving, ascending marble walls, his claws grasping at anything to help him move upwards, move toward the light, finally emerging from a see-through dome, ignoring the raining glass as it nicked and cut his already tortured flesh.
It gave him pause.
He inhaled heavily.
Not because his climb exhausted him, no.
Air.
Fresh air.
He breathed it in deeply; long, slow breaths filling his lungs.
Eyes falling closed, he drew in one more lungful of a delicate breeze, tasting the sea on his tongue as he did so, then opened his eyes again. It was almost too bright, and he blinked, turning his head toward the ground as he pushed his limbs forward, freedom now a desperation in his veins. He did not care when his weight crushed the buildings, sending boulders to the streets below. He was uncaring when shouts of surprise and shrieks of fright rang around them, only allowing himself to feel a brief, passing concern for the humans’ wellbeing as rubble crumbled beneath his claws, for when Firfierld was but a juvenile, he had loved his humans.
Extending his wings nearly made the dragon breathe his fire in delight, the stretch a delicious sensation. He flapped them, then again, feeling the wind rotate beneath his wings, lifting him slightly. Firfierld leapt off a building then, propelling his wings downward then hoisted them up, repeating the movements until, to his elated astonishment, he rose into the atmosphere, releasing an ecstatic roar as the wind ripped across his snout.
“That was brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!” Firfierld heard one of the small humans remark. He waved his head in agreement as they shot into the air toward his deliverance.
It was brilliant.
***
The cityscape soon melted into rolling hills of green grass, rivers of blue cutting through the landscape. It smelled even better here than the city, unpolluted by the growth of civilization; it was freeing, it was simple, he could get lost and not care that he did so. It was as if time stood still as he glided through the zephyr, swooping low on occasion just to hear the girl shriek, deriving some amusement from the human’s startlement, until the only indication time was passing was the slow setting of the sun.
Firfierld flew over a tall hill, and gasped the only way he could by snorting a burst of hot steam from his nose. For as far as the eye could see, a lake stretched over the land, hugged by hills on both sides. He could smell the fresh water, the kelp and wig wrack, the fish, and only then did Firfierld recognize his hunger.
Descending to a suitable height to feed, he heard the small humans speak to one another, then three subsequent splashes in the water below. Relieved of his burden, Firfierld roared his gratitude to the human girl, then dipped even lower upon spotting a school of fish, darker than the surrounding water.
For the first time in years, he ate well.
***
The thrum of magic in the air woke him.
Lifting his head, Firfierld inhaled deeply, scenting the stench of decay that accompanied Dark magic. Unfortunately, he was too familiar with it, having guarded a vault for fifty years that reeked of it, oozed of it, the vault’s owner often attending to the treasures inside… until they didn’t.
For a decade, Firfierld was subjected to the sultry wiles of the Dark One, pledging the dragon’s release for his fealty, whispering promises of revenge against the Dangerous Kind, the tiny humanoids who often speared him for their own merriment. However, Firfierld was not of a malleable mind: he knew who put him in the depths of the bank - and for what purpose.
The Dark magic that emanated from the vault was the same magic currently befouling the nighttime sky.
Fury was too kind a word for what Firfierld felt, and he rose from his bed of moss on the forest floor, looking towards the heavens, and inhaled. The odoriferous magic was strongest to the east, a far more subtle scent of sunshine – Light magic wielders – carried on an after breeze. A battle was occurring, or perhaps a war.
And the Light was losing.
Firfierld’s wings spread before he consciously made his decision and rose into the air with a great flap of his wings. It was dark now, the sky bright with stars, the moon in its waxing phase, though he could taste the impending sunrise on his tongue; his wings thrust against the wind harder and faster, desperation building in his gut the closer the scent of Dark magic became.
The Light could not be defeated.
Dragonkind would not survive.
Humankind would not survive.
“Charlie, dragon!” A human’s voice screamed, drawing Firfierld’s attention. How he hadn’t noticed the dark mass of broom flyers just before him was beyond his understanding, but he halted midair, parting his jaws, and bared his fangs in warning. He did not want to injure the humans as they did not smell as the Dark One did, but he would if they attempted his recapture.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” another human placated in a calm voice, “Keep eye contact and back away slowly.”
Firfierld snorted steam in surprise. The human knew how to respect Dragonkind, showed his humanity. ‘Twas uncommon, and two empathetic humans in one day a rarity.
He snorted again, rearing back slightly as the human lit the end of his wand. On the other end of the light was a wizard with fire for hair and a wild, caring nature about him. He looked at Firfierld as if he was a marvel.
Then, to Firfierld’s further astonishment, the fire-haired wizard dipped his head, only releasing eye contact when he completed the bow by bending at the waist. It took Firfierld aback; the last time a wizard bowed to him, it was his humans. The humans who spent time amongst dragons, assimilated with the thunder, cared for and studied the thunder…
And he bowed his head in return.
The wizard exhaled sharply.
“Okay, you lot! He’s letting us go! We need- go! Hogwarts needs us! We’ve no more time to waste!”
Firfierld rose just as the broom flyers sped away, tilting his head curiously when the fire-haired wizard remained.
“Thank you,” he stated solemnly, raising his arm across his chest, his fist over his heart. Then he turned his broom and gripped the handles with both hands, a whoosh of air rushing past as the wizard flew with a purpose.
Toward the Dark magic.
And Firfierld roared.
Flapping his wings, he took flight once more, racing against the sudden gale, thrusting his wings as he dove under the fire-haired wizard, gradually rising until he felt the human’s boots upon his scales.
“What-“ the wizard began, but Firfierld simply shook his head, looking out of his periferals, and blinked his eyes. Snorting again, he closed the small gap between the broom flyer and his neck, allowing the befuddled wizard to settle between his spikes before Firfierld pushed his wings downward, gaining speed.
“Charlie?!” One of the humans screeched as he flew by them, the steel scent of revenge driving his wings to hoist him into the air again, propelling them towards the heavy burden of magic.
“I don’t know how I know, but he wants me to ride him into battle. Hurry, you lot! And be careful! Watch out for trolls and giants. They’re wielding clubs the size of tree trunks,” the fire-haired wizard – Charlie – remarked, wrapping a bicep around Firfierld’s spike, then laid a hand against his flank, patting soothingly, and whispered only to him, “You’re remarkable.”
Firfierld simply snorted.
It took but a few more flaps of his wings before a large castle rose out of the sky, illuminated by a barrage of red and green, quick flashes of yellow and orange, deadly purple whizzing through the atmosphere and subsequent screams renting the air.
“There!” Charlie shouted. Firfeirld followed the wizard’s hand, his gaze landing on mountainous humanoids raising thick clubs, swinging until stomach-churning cracks echoed off the thick forest and human bodies littered the ground.
Blasphemy!
Feeling his heat build in his throat, Firfeirld swooped low, releasing his fire on an unsuspecting group swathed in black and stinking of the Dark One’s magic, moving his inferno to engulf the humanoid next, uncaring when the giant bellowed in agony.
Charlie’s hand ran the length of Firfeirld’s neck, and he allowed the fire-haired wizard to soothe him, calm him, for his blood was rushing, his fury forcing it quickly through his veins. These were the wizards who revered the Dark One, who visited Firfeirld in the bowels of the cave, torturing him with the clacking objects only to mimic the Dangerous Kind by stabbing through his hide with sharpened points, laughing gleefully as Firfeirld bled until he could not stand.
He would not care – did not care - if these humans died.
“There,” Charlie stated again, calmer this time, his voice taking on a deadly edge.
If Firfeirld had lips, he’d have smirked.
Instead, he simply breathed a swirl of steam, eyeing the wizard on his back as Charlie nodded thin-lipped toward a stampeding wave of cloaked figures, their wands raised high as they sprinted toward the castle, their mouths open in a war cry.
It was joyous watching the army stumble in their shock mere seconds before Firfeirld plunged at them, his fire billowing from his mouth in a white-hot burst, leaving little but ash in his wake.
Firfeirld didn’t need direction next, taking aim at a duo of trolls, then a wizard who smelt of sulfur. His fire charred the wizard as he rose his wand against a shape shifting creature fighting for the Light, then directed his breath toward a witch whose high-pitched cackle and malodorous stench gave him little pause. A citrus-smelling pink-haired witch stared agape at Firfeirld as he soared overhead, leaving the Dark One’s lover at the pink-haired witch’s feet, burnt beyond recognition.
Abruptly, it all ceased when his voice bellowed through the ether, calling for Harry Potter.
Expectation hung in the air like a thick, weighted blanket, and it forced Firfeirld to the ground, landing heavily with an earth-shaking thud. Folding his wings, he turned his head, eyeing Charlie still astride Firfeirld’s neck. His features were hard, his brow dipped over his eyes, his lips set in a grim line. His topaz eyes met Firfeirld’s red then, and he bowed his head, bending at his waist.
Gratitude.
Firfeirld could smell it on the fire-haired wizard.
“Thank you,” Charlie stated, running his hands along the muscles in the dragon’s neck. “You’ve saved so many…”
His eyes then scoured the burn marks in Firfeirld’s hide, the gouges and welts that permanently adorned his body. Charlie’s eyes flared as his fingers slid over a recent spear wound. “What happened to you, balaur?”
Firfeirld did not understand the word, but it sounded kind. He snorted in return, then laid on his haunches, curling his neck around his flank, uncaring to relive his decades of torture. Instead, he decided to refocus on what was important: the battle had ceased, but the war was not yet won. He could feel the gathering of magic in the trees, and while he desired to burn the entire forest to the ground, his energy was depleted.
He needed a reprieve...
It felt as if his eyes had just closed before a harrowing scream echoed off the clouds of smoke and haze of lingering magic. A hand on his neck drew his gaze, and Charlie’s wide, astonished eyes met his.
“Harry’s dead,” he croaked in shock.
Firfeirld did not understand the significance of this Harry, however it was mentioned twice in the last hour – the first through the Dark One’s amplified voice – and it put the dragon on edge. He snorted in response, pushing his hide into Charlie’s hand, encouraging him to continue.
“There’s nothing we can do about that, balaur, but there is a whole fucking group of Death Eaters just waiting for a bonfire. What say you? One last go?”
Firfeirld snorted for a final time, bowing in his acquiesce, for the less Darkness in the world, the better. Charlie’s eyes closed, and he leaned his forehead against Firfeirld’s neck, exhaling heavily with a wet, throaty stutter. The human was in pain; his magic exuded from his pores, tasting of sea salt and copper, and the dragon tilted his head, eyeing Charlie for obvious injury. He was filthy with dirt, his clothes tattered and torn, but his heart beat regularly, his pallor was normal. Emotional, then. This Harry’s death pained him emotionally.
Lowering his head to the ground, Firfeirld released a soft cry of mourning for the fire-haired wizard’s Harry. Charlie pulled away, lips thinned and features set yet again in stone. “Let’s go to a barbecue.”
Gripping Firfeirld’s spike, Charlie climbed onto his neck, settling himself astride, and the dragon heaved himself from the ground, stretching his wings, flapping them once, then twice, the wind lifting them from the earth. Dawn was upon them now, the sun happy in its morning rise, but it also gave Firfeirld a great, devastating view of the carnage below. He could understand now, Charlie’s emotional pain; there were too many of the Light strewn about the earth. Firfeirld released another cry of mourning, of grief, for this much death was an abomination, a perversion of Mother Nature.
Soaring into the sky, Firfeirld felt the wind beneath his wings, thrusting them downwards as he turned, his crimson stare scouring the grounds. He could hear chains rustle against stone, a defiant boy’s speech refusing the Dark One, and just as Firfeirld meant to swoop down low, catch the putrid souls off guard, the boy raised a sword, striking at a large serpent.
Chaos ensued, wands raising, spells erupting from the tips. But Firfeirld’s patience was nonexistent. He needed his revenge. He needed vengeance for the needless slaughter.
“Go on, boy,” Charlie crooned in his ear, patting his hide once again. “Char those maggots.”
He would, but later.
Firfeirld had a different task in mind.
Following the Dark One’s scent, his eyes latched onto a tall, grey-skinned wizard wearing flowing, black robes. He wielded the Wand of Death, which enraged Firfeirld, for the Dark One was not worthy of it. He ignored Charlie’s shout of surprise – and subsequent screams from the humans on the ground – as Firfeirld landed heavily behind the Dark One. Breathing deeply, his blood raced with anticipation, with glee, as the wizard spun on his heel, his red, snake-like eyes widening in bafflement – in recognition.
Firfeirld’s jaws parted, smoke curling out from between his teeth, and he took one step forward, then another, until he was able to bend his neck and look the Dark One in the eye.
‘See what you’ve done?’ he wanted to say. ‘Look around at the destruction you caused. And for what? Power? Useless conquest when the true power rests with the goddesses.’
The Dark One’s features twisted then, morphing from awe to malevolence, the stench of decay billowing from his person as he raised the Wand of Death in his hand. Firfeirld simply reared forward, his powerful jaws snapping the body of the Dark One in half.
The blood was vile on his tongue, but the act was well worth the taste of rot.
Turning his large body, Firfeirld smelled the Dark magic escaping with the wizards in black, and without hesitation, he released his fire, the songs of their screams music to his ears.
And it was done.
***
Charlie’s Harry lived.
It was a miracle, they proclaimed. But Firfeirld knew it was the goddess’s work.
After the war was won, Firfeirld welcomed Charlie’s friendship, quickly finding the fire-haired wizard’s sanctuary for Dragonkind inviting. He was free to come and go as he pleased, a liberty he had not possessed in many years. He was able to mate, a choice he was not afforded in the bowels of the cave.
As the years passed, he watched Charlie – his Vahlock – mate a girl with bushy hair, bright amber eyes, and a breathtaking smile.
The same girl who severed Firfeirld’s chains.
The Rahofan of his Deliverance.
They had young. Twin boys and a girl.
Firfeirld welcomed fifteen of his own in that time.
It was a beautiful life.
Free of Darkness.