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Harry Potter And The Dragon Of Throne
By Arya

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Category: Post-OotP
Characters:Harry/Ginny
Genres: Action/Adventure, Tragedy
Warnings: Death, Sexual Situations, Violence
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 9
Summary: *** The author has been reminded via the e-mail address on file that this story is listed as incomplete and has not been updated since 2004 ***

One Wizard....
One Dragon....
A World Of Adventure....
Harry Potter...The Wizard Rider
Hitcount: Story Total: 3638







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Harry Potter And The Dragon Of Throne
By Arya


Note to readers: This is my first attempt (or failed) to write a Sixth Year based upon Harry in Hogwarts. I’ve had other’s during the past…but no one seemed interested enough to leave a review…*sigh*…so hopefully, if you like this one and would like me to continue…then please! PLEASE! Leave a review! That’s all I ask, thanks.

P.S. Know that this story is based upon Eragon, but is very different…since Harry goes to Hogwarts and everything…so, if you don’t like Eragon or something, please don’t waste my time with ur nasty reviews…okay, some of you guys out there are Lord Of The Ring fans and think that Eragon is a copy of it…well calm down if you get pissed, okay? Because I love Lord Of The Rings even more than Eragon…so please no nasty remarks, or rude comments. But you can leave me some advice to make the plot better if you like…I’d be happy to follow it.

Chapter One: A Dragon Hatchling

Harry James Potter leaned against the wall of his bedroom door, feeling the emotions of grief, anger, and loss consume inside him as he stared blankly out the open window, where little rays of light came roaring into view, irritating his eyes ever so slightly.
He blinked and buried his face mournfully into his arms, feeling the familiar desires to release the knotted lump forcing to arise from his throat. Hot wet prickles poked at the corners of his eyes, making him fight even harder to control the pain that was building within him….
“Sirius….”whispered Harry, and his eyes closed, swallowing the lump deeply. “Sirius….” It had been his fault that Sirius had died from the jet of light thrown at him from Bellatrix. Nothing had been worse, but to see his startled face of a godfather go sailing endlessly through the veil…never to return.
“Shut up,” he muttered, feeling the rise of the lumpy knot once more. “I’ve just gotten back from the station…and I’m going to grieve now?”
He stood up, doing his best to look determined. Heaving a heavy sigh, Harry unpacked through his various clothing in his trunk and talked a few times with Hedwig, while muttering beasty comment about himself in an undertone.
Feeling depressed, Harry threw his books untidily across the floor and kicked hard at his trunk, trying to release the fury within him. “Damn it,” he muttered, rubbing the pain at the sole of his toes, and he let out a stream of curses as the bruise he had just received at the end of his foot begin to swell.
Along with every other miserable feeling growing like nasty fungus within Harry, the pain in his toes did not bring any help to it. He sank miserable into his bed, fighting to overcome knot forcing to burst from his throat. Ever since, he had gotten back to Privet Drive that morning, Harry had been fighting his grieving emotions that were threatening to overwhelm at him.
“I can’t cry…” he murmured, and felt shameful. “I can’t…oh…I can’t.” He wished he were elsewhere at the moment, anywhere but Privet Drive.
“Hey, Potter,” said a dull voice, bringing Harry sharply back to earth. He jolted up from his musing and saw his fat fifteen year-old cousin, Dudley holding a small plate of sandwiches in his large beefy hands (so similar to Uncle Vernon’s). Dudley’s expression was unreadable as he stared at Harry, though his eyes held a strange glint Harry had never seen before.
“What do you want?” snapped Harry in a foul voice. The anguish had not left him and the least he need at the very moment in his world of solemn torments, was to have pigged-faced Dudley Dursley outwit him in a very contempt way.
Thought why not? Thought Harry, the idea beginning to appeal to him, I’d love to vent out my frustration on someone right now….
But to his surprise, Dudley did not seem in the mood to start a fight. Instead, he walked silently towards Harry, with his head slightly bent and placed down the plate of badly made sandwiches. “Mum wanted me to bring these to you.”
Harry face switched from somberness into surprised bewilderment. What had caused his aunt to make him sandwiches, even if they did look rather moldy at the side of the crust? Then he remembered the Order’s threat towards the Dursley this morning on the train station. A reluctant grin spread slowly across his face, and he reached hungrily for the sandwiches. Anything to take his mind off Sirius for just a minute would help him dearly right now.
His mouth twitched and he made a face as soon as the sandwich entered into his watering mouth. Disgusting. Expired cheese and mustard was not a very well made combination. But he was sure that noting else would be given to him.
As Harry continued to devour the sandwiches, he began to get irritated. Dudley had not left the room, but stayed rooted to the spot from across Harry’s bed, staring at him with a sudden horrified expression. Finally, Harry slammed his half-eaten sandwiches on top of the others and exclaimed angrily, “What do you want? Can’t you see I’m in the mood to be alone? Get out!”
Sighing, Dudley murmured, “I owe you something…errs…for saving my life last summer.” Harry stared at him, perplexed. “You know…the dementors!” burst Dudley at Harry’s confusion. Then, from his beefy hands, Dudley had thrown something at Harry lap.
“Take it,” he muttered and left the room.
Still confused, Harry looked down at his lap and picked up a wrapped heavy parcel. A note was taped to the back:

Potter,
Found this hidden in my mum’s jewelry box. I don’t know what she was doing with such a thing and was quite surprised myself after all these years she spent complaining silently about…. oh you’ll find out! Just open it!

Dudley

Curious, Harry hands tore viciously at the badly wrapped present, and found himself peering into an old worn-leather album. His eyes dissolved into tears at what he saw and he quickly blinked them away. His mum was in every photo, smiling lovingly at him. She looked no older than ten or nine. Her flaming red hair cascade everywhere down her petite body and he saw that she looked very pretty for her age. Just as his trembling fingers turned to the next page, Harry let out a gasp of shock.
Draped arm in arm with his ten year-old mother was horse-faced Petunia herself, looking around the age of fourteen or so. The shock overwhelmed him and Harry found himself lost in a whirl of thoughts. What does this mean? I thought Aunt Petunia hated my mother…how come they look so loving with each other in this photo?
Eventually, his stunned eyes left the photo and he tossed it aside, feeling so loss. I don’t get it, he mused. He continued to lay in a stupor the entire evening, until his ears noticed the sound of buzzing flies eating at his sandwiches. Harry’s stomach growled hungrily, realizing his stupidity at not finishing his food. Angry at himself and resolving to think things later, he picked up his plate of sandwiches and rushed down the stairs.
Aunt Petunia was gazing dully out the kitchen window as he arrived, and he couldn’t help but toss a second glance her way. Uncle Vernon’s purpled-face and bushy mustache was battling madly with his plate of food, consisting of cooked hams and steak. Dudley sat beside him, eating the same luxury, while he, Harry had been forced to eat sandwiches which had now gone to the flies nesting rest.
A bowl of steaming mash potatoes lay in the center of the table, Harry groaned inwardly at the smell of brown gravy smothering his noise as he threw away the remainders of his sandwiches. Aunt Petunia’s horsy face snapped his way and she said, her tone filled with disdain, “Did you not eat the sandwich I made for you?”
“No,” replied Harry rudely.
Aunt Petunia glared at him with glowing eyes. “Boy, do you think that I will tolerate your behavior with me? No….I made you sandwiches and you declined it? The last thing I need is for your lot to come marching up here at this very second if they had heard that you have not eaten.”
Harry turned coolly towards. “Oh…really? I suppose that you would also like me to tell them that I’ve been eating poorly made sandwiches which only consist of old-hardened cheese and expired mustard? Even you know that I don’t like mustard. And while you lot feast on nice plates mixed with all sorts of good meat, you expect the Order to happy with your ideas of moldy sandwiches?”
He watched as Aunt Petunia’s face grew pale, along with Uncle Vernon who choked on his mouthful of steak. Dudley let out a low whimper and clutched at his bottom. Feeling satisfied, and stomach still growling endlessly, Harry began to leave the room.
“Wait!” cried his Aunt Petunia, digging something out from her purse. She handed Harry a twenty-pound note and hissed frantically, “Go to the Deli and buy a dinner! But please…please, don’t tell that lot of yours.”
Grinning, Harry grabbed at the twenty pound note and stuffed it into his pocket. He left the silent kitchen and bellowed at the wincing Dursley’s, “I’ll be off then.” He opened the house door and slammed it behind him.
Little Whining was most appealing to Harry at night, with its curtains around the square houses closed, along with no neighbors to muttered disapproving at his “delinquent” appearance. Usually, their comments disturbed him and Harry did not like the fact that they thought of him as a common criminal that went to St. Brutus for Incurably Criminal Boys.
The Deli was across Magnolia Road, leading to a small diner, which had very few people eating their dinners at rickety chairs and tables. They looked at him briefly as he passed and soon returned to their quiet conversations while stuffing themselves with fries or burgers. Harry walked up to the front of the counter nervously. A woman with protuberant large eyes stared at him strangely.
“Err, hi,” he murmured. “One seat, and fries and a burger please.” The stout woman smiled coyly at him and led Harry to a seat in the far corner. He sat there; dusting off spider webs as the woman came back, carrying his menu.
Starving, Harry tried with all his might to be polite, but found himself shoving fat fries and burgers within his mouth. “Starving, eh?” asked the woman. “Name’s Dana by the way.”
“Um, Harry,” he said awkwardly and extended a hand to shake with her. She shook it vigorously and returned from her position behind the counter, she stared at him strangely from behind it. Harry tried his best ignore her, his head filled with uneasiness. When he had finished, the woman came back, holding a giant blue rock.
“Here you are,” said Dana brightly, stuffing Harry’s hand with the giant blue rock. “A present for you…I can see that your first comer. We always give first comer’s presents.”
Harry stared at the large rock. Not wanting to hurt Dana’s feelings, he muttered, “Thank you, I’ll be sure to take good care of it.” Dana nodded her approval and left.
“She is a mad woman,” he muttered as he left the diner, returning back to Privet Drive, only to found that the Dursley had all gone to bed. Feeling relieved, he ran up the staircase two at a time and dropped his rock onto the floor. Drained and tired, Harry curled up into is blankets and fell into a deep slumber.

* * *
Crack.
Harry blinked his eyes opened, rubbing the water from them and stared frantically around his room. It was early morning and a sound had disturbed him.
Crack.
There it was again. Feeling uneasy, Harry stood up from his bed and saw the rock he had tossed on the floor. It had a wrinkle across it and as he looked closely, saw that a breaking line was forming on it. Bewildered, he stared at it closely, before nearly letting out a terrified scream.
The egg exploded, and a small creature appeared from out the rock…but not a rock, but an egg. Licking the membrane that encased it, was a dragon.
The dragon was no longer than Harry’s forearm, yet it was dignified and noble. Its scales were a deep sapphire blue, the same color as the egg. The dragon fanned its wings; they were what had made it appear several times longer than the rest of the body. The dragon’s head was roughly triangular. Two diminutive fangs curved down out of its upper jaw. They looked very sharp. Its claws were white, liked polished ivory, and slightly serrated on the inside curve.
Harry shifted slightly as the dragon’s head snapped around and eyed him with hard sapphire blue eyes. He kept very still; it might be a formidable enemy if it decided to attack.
The dragon soon lost interest in Harry and began to explore the room, squealing as it bumped into a wall or furniture. With a flutter of its wings, it leapt onto Harry’s bed and crawled to his pillow, squeaking. Harry sat cautiously at the end of the bed. The dragon smelled his hand, nibbled his sleeve. He pulled his arm back with a start.
A smile tugged at Harry’s lips. Tentatively, he reached out with his right hand and touched its flank. A blast of icy energy surged into his hand, burning his veins like liquid fire. He fell back with a cry. An iron clang rumbled in his ears, and he heard a soundless scream of rage. Harry struggled to move, but was unable to. After what seemed like hours, warmth seeped back into his limbs, leaving them tingling. Alarmed, he watched as the middle of his palm shimmered and formed a diffused white oval. The skin itched and burned like a spider bite. His heart pounded frantically.
Harry blinked, trying to understand what had occurred. Something brushed against his consciousness, like a finger trailing over his skin. He felt it again, but this time it solidified into a tendril of thought through which he could feel a growing curiosity. It was as if an invisible wall surrounding his thoughts had fallen away, without anything to hold him back. The new sense vanished as he closed his eyes. He glared suspiciously at the motionless dragon.
A scaly leg scraped against his side, and he jerked back. But the energy did not shock him again. Puzzled, Harry rubbed the dragon’s head with his right hand. A light tingling ran up his arm. The dragon nuzzled him, arching its back like a cat. He slid a finger over its thin wing membranes. They felt like old parchment, velvety and warm, but still slightly damp. Hundreds of slender veins pulsed through them.
Again, the tendril touched his mind, but this time, instead of curiosity, he sensed an overpowering, ravenous hunger. Harry got up with a sigh. This was a dangerous animal, of that he was sure. Yet it seemed so helpless crawling on his bed, he could only wonder if there was any harm in keeping it. The dragon wailed in a reedy tone as it looked for food. Harry quickly scratched it neck to keep its squeaks from waking the Dursley’s. I think about this later, he decided and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
The kitchen was empty and the early morning still appeared to be dawn. Quietly, Harry searched through the refrigerator, looking for raw uncooked meat. He found several of them hidden greedily behind the rest of Uncle Vernon’s beer and Aunt Petunia’s “rabbit food” as his uncle called it. Harry knew with no doubt, that the raw burger and chicken meat had been hidden by Dudley and he took many slices of chicken meat with a satisfying conviction.
Returning to his room, Harry found the dragon sitting on the window sill, watching the sun rise slowly into the skies. He cut the meat into small squares and offered one to the dragon. It smelled the meat cautiously, then jabbed its head forward like a snake and snapped the meat hungrily from his fingers. The dragon prodded Harry’s hand for more food.
He fed it, careful to keep his fingers out of the way. By the time there was only one square left of meat to be fed to the dragon, its belly was bulging tremendously. He offered the last piece and dragon swallowed it whole lazily. Done eating, it crawled into his arms curled sleepily against his chest. Then it snorted, puff of smoke bursting from its nostril. Harry gazed at the sleeping dragon in wonder.
What is this dragon? Where did it come from? Harry continued to stare at the scaly dragon, feeling a strange beating at his heart. What was he to do with it? Should he kill it? No. The thought of that was repugnant to Harry and he dismissed it, feeling disgusted with himself at the very thought.
But what if he were to keep it? The Dursley’s would find out for sure, and once they did, Harry would be in deep trouble. He then remembered Hagrid’s dragon and gave a shudder at the height it had grown in several weeks. There was no possibility that he would be able to conceal the dragon from the Dursley’s for too long.
I could make it a house somewhere hidden, thought Harry, though no idea of a place came to mind. A sigh of weariness escaped from his lips and he closed his eyes sleepily. Something in his soul was telling him not to get rid of the dragon and a sudden determination crushed against him, wanting him to keep the dragon.
“I want it,” he told himself firmly, though without a reason why. “I want it. Shove the Dursley’s if they won’t let me keep it. I am having the dragon.” Determined, Harry fell asleep with it against his chest. The dragon let out another puff of smoke and snorted.





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