Harry Potter: Dragon Whisperer

No Longer the Status Quo

Chapter 35 – No Longer the Status Quo

9:20am

Tuesday, 31 August 1995

Romanian Dragon Sanctuary, Romania

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Memzath's head turned even before the first steps of his visitor were felt, much less heard. Rising, he lumbered down the tunnel towards the light of the canyon.

§Weyr Leader§, Damrath said, lowering his head in respect.

§Damrath, it is good to see you this morn§, Memzath replied.

§Weyr Leader, I caught a taste in the air; it boded ill§, Damrath replied.

§Show me§! Memzath instructed.

With a great leap, Damrath was airborne, his wings working hard to rise above the canyon walls. Memzath, with his greater wingspan, was mere moments behind him.

The sun was still low on the horizon, the dawn having not long passed. Memzath had seen the two-legs on their sticks flying over earlier, something that was noted by all the dragons. Every morning since as long as Memzath could remember, the two-legs would fly above them.

Never before the Speaker had arrived had any dragon risen to fly with them; occasionally challenge, yes, but not fly alongside. When the Speaker had first arrived, the dragons had joined him in flight to celebrate the joy of having one such as he who respected them, spoke with them and honoured him. The practice was continued every day alongside the Speaker by most dragons, something that all dragons had come to enjoy.

But with the Speaker gone, looking after dragons faraway, the two-legs had continued their flight on their own, alone, without dragonwing beside them. Thus, it surprised Memzath that Damrath had obviously sensed something on a morning flight.

The two dragons soared above the Weyr, travelling half the length of the canyon before Damrath veered off towards the south. The pastures were that way where there was always good hunting and good eating. But they did not stop there, instead, continuing on.

A buzz akin to a multitude of the tiniest annoying insects swarmed over his body for the merest moment and Memzath knew that they'd flown beyond the two-leg magic that surrounded the Weyr.

§Down there, Weyr Leader§, Damrath indicated.

As they spiralled in towards the indicated spot, Memzath reached out and tasted the air. At first it was the faintest touch of magic. Dark magic. An evil taste. A taste that should not be. Memzath concentrated, unaware that his eyes were now spiralling yellows, oranges and reds.

§There§! Damzath said, indicating with a pointed wing a fallen log.

§I taste it§, Memzath replied and stalked forwards.

Damzath, he was aware, lumbered to the side, keeping the focus of their attention in his sights.

Now that he was closer, Memzath flicked his tongue out. The wrongness of the magic struck him and his eyes began smouldering with a red so dark that it almost appeared black. He'd tasted this magic before, this wrongness. It was vile, most evil. Memory burst into being of the last time that he'd tasted it – in the Weyr bowl, residing in the very head of the Speaker.

But that time, the magic, while evil, was smaller, less intense. This was brighter, more concentrated, as though that smaller piece that was in the Speaker stemmed from whatever evil lay hidden under the log.