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Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 66: A Different Kind of Magic
The Hungarian Horntail glared at him before roaring.
Harry could feel the beast's emotions… fear, anger, and the desire to protect its progeny.
This dragon was not here with the desire to kill him, but was merely placed in an awkward position by the dragon keepers, and was now just trying to defend itself.
It was then that Harry decided to take a different approach to tackle this task.
The dragon was locked to the ground by massive chains that groaned with its every movement.
Its roar was able to shake the stands, and when its spiked tail lashed out, it left deep carvings on the ground of the arena.
Harry took a moment to prepare and then began to walk across the arena. Not to the center, but to the very edge, closest to the dragon's nest, where the golden egg awaited his retrieval.
The crowd held its breath, expecting a furious duel to begin. An exchange of magic and dragon fire.
But Harry did not raise his wand. Instead, once he determined that he was close enough, he closed his eyes and remained very still.
The dragon responded by rearing back, and a furnace of glowing heat appeared in its throat.
But the fire did not come out. The dragon paused… its great, slit-pupilled eyes, which used to hold only primal rage, were now fixed on the still figure of Harry Potter.
"What is he doing?!" an alarmed Ginny said the same words that everyone in the audience was currently thinking.
Only a few individuals present were able to pick up on what Harry was doing.
And only one of them actually knew it for a fact.
"He is communicating with the dragon," said Morgan. "However, he is not using his voice but with something more primal instead… a shared memory."
The memory that Harry was sharing with the dragon was one of an ancient earth.
These memories did not belong to Harry Potter or Merlin, but they were acquired thanks to his connection to nature itself.
Memories from when a volcanic fire birthed the first mountains, of a time when dragons were the lords of creation, and humans were not even a dream.
He did not offer the dragon a challenge. He offered it recognition and remembrance.
"Ancient race." His presence murmured to the dragon. "I see you. I remember the world as it was when your kind painted the sky."
The Horntail's head lowered, a curious, almost graceful movement. The furious huffing of her nostrils slowed.
Harry took a single step forward, then another. His hand now outstretched, palm up. On it, he had not conjured a mere illusion, but had drawn forth from the very air a shimmering phantom, a perfect spectral dragonfly from a long-lost prehistoric marsh.
It fluttered on his palm as a tiny jewel of a forgotten time.
The dragon watched with attention as the tiny creature danced in the air, and a flicker of something other than fury could be seen in its gaze… nostalgia for a world less cramped and hostile that no longer exists.
He continued his slow, respectful walk towards the nest. As he passed the dragon's flank, he gently placed his bare hand on a scale near its shoulder.
The crowd gasped with shock at the display.
The dragon stiffened, but did not strike, because it could feel the truth in his touch… this was no thief, nor an arrogant upstart. This was a keeper of the Old Ways… a traveler who became one with nature.
Harry reached the nest. The golden egg was warm to the touch, radiating the dragon's protective magic, even though this was not one of hers.
He still didn't grab it. He looked at the Horntail and bowed his head, a gesture of thanks.
Harry then took the black cloak that rested over his shoulders and laid it gently beside the eggs. From the fabric, a vibrant green moss grew, and tiny blue flowers appeared on top. The plants expanded and surrounded the nest, cradling the eggs within.
It was an exchange. Harry glanced at the dragon. "I will take your burden and leave you a piece of the living earth in its place."
Only then, he picked up the golden egg, holding it beneath his arm, then turned around and walked the way he came, past the now calm dragon.
The creature watched him go, then… lowered its head to sniff the cloak of flowers and moss, letting out a soft rumble that was no longer a threat, but a contemplative purr.
The arena was utterly silent. There had been no flashes of light, no fire, no flying broomsticks, nor disguises. There had only been a conversation in a language they could not understand, an ancient tongue long forgotten.
Harry reached the exit and paused. He turned back, not to the judges, but to the dragon. He gave her one last, slow nod. Then he disappeared into the tunnel.
The judges stared at their score sheets, their quills frozen. How were they supposed to score that? Technical skill?
Harry had used no spell they could name.
For being daring? It was certainly a dare of an entirely different kind.
For success? The golden egg was in his hands, and the dragon was now peacefully taking a nap on top of those flowers he had created.
Dumbledore leaned back in his seat, a small smile on his lips. His eyes twinkled behind his half-moon glasses. He alone, on the panel of judges, scribbled a full score. But he did not write a number, as he did not feel like any number could quantify the difficulty of what Harry had just done.
And he was sure that he only comprehended it on the most surface level possible.
Dumbledore wrote a single word on his panel.
The other judges saw this and leaned closer to see what the Headmaster of Hogwarts had to say about Harry Potter's display.
They stared at the word written by Dumbledore with utter confusion.
The word written was… "Understanding."
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