Once Upon A Time (A Drarry FanFiction Collection)

Chapter Nine

   And so Harry had celebrated his next three birthdays alone. His own festivities normally came several weeks after the prince's, but what had been a season of joviality for the townsfolk had now become one of sombre mourning, and Harry had held the loss of the beautiful prince heavy in his heart.

Whenever the call had been rallied for brave men to try their luck against the dragon of the mountain, Harry's head had risen sharply. But he was nobody, a lowly potter, without any skill other than that he had learnt at his father's wheel. But all that changed when his godfather had needed aid at his family's farm.

The Blacks weren't wealthy by any means, but they owned good land, much livestock, and even a small metal works yard. Harry had learned all he could of the working of the estate and its animals, and then, finally, picked up one of the old discarded swords from the cluttered workshop.

"Teach me," he had begged his godfather Sirius.

"You'll have your own eye out," Sirius had snapped, trying to reclaim the blade. "And then your mother with take mine as penance."

But Harry had persisted, demanding to be taught all Sirius knew, until, desperate for some peace, his godfather had relented and began his instruction in earnest.

The next time the call came for men, Harry was by no means an expert, but he knew enough to join the sell-swords passing through from lands afar, to offer a fresh pair of boots in the saddle, one more name to give the king and queen hope that this time, surely, their son would be returned to them.

His parents had begged him not to go, and the other riders and curled their lips, but Harry knew he had to face the dragon, he had to try and bring the prince back home. He couldn't face another birthday without knowing the prince had had his too.

And so it was, in the summer that would bring his and Draco's twenty first year, Harry and his old horse Bucky made the final push up the mountain side to the beast's lair, hoping to find the prince held captive deep in its rocky belly.

The knights and mercenaries jostled up ahead, all eager to have the first chance to vanquish the creature, and Harry held back still, hoping from his horse and tethering it to a tree a couple of dozen feet from the dragon's sweltering home. The lands all around this area were plagued with scorch marks from the beast's exertions from the cave, when human flesh had been scarce, so instead it had slaked its hunger with sheep and cattle from the fields below.

As dire was the need to rescue the prince, the people of the village would not survive much longer either if these attacks were not soon stopped, not if all their meat was taken from them, and their businesses destroyed.

Harry mused on the last attacked to his hometown, the one just before the sell-swords called for arms, and went over his plan again and again as he made him and his horse comfortable.

Crabbe and Goyle jeered at him. "You come all this way for a nap, boy?" the larger of the two asked as he sharpened his longsword.

"A potter's son has no business being here," sniped one of the other, more elabourately dressed knights with distain. "You are no match for the beast."

Harry smiled and leant back against the tree he had secured Bucky to, hands above his head. "We shall see," he said pleasantly.

The well dressed knight was the first one in. After a few minutes, the screams and roars began to emanate from the mouth of the cave, until soon, all was silent again. No one emerged from inside the mountain, and the men shared anxious, determined looks with each other, but none amongst them would be swayed.

Some went in bellowing, some with silence and stealth. Some ran or crawled their way back into the sunshine, and some would never see it again. Harry ground his teeth against each loss, but these men were not his kin, they were not pleasant or kind, they were brutal and selfish. After so many years, it was unfortunate that the prince was only left with such men, who cared simply for the reward his salvation promised, and not the man himself.

And so Harry continued to wait.

Once bested, the knights who survived would limp back to their steeds and head sheepishly home again, no doubt visiting the town's thinly stretched apothecary on their way in search of salves for their burns. As twilight encroached, only the trio of sell-swords remained as well as Harry. Their weapons sufficiently sharpened, and their competition (as they saw it) already thwarted, Crabbe, Goyle and Flint began their determined onslaught into the cave, without so much as a backwards glance at Harry.

Harry yawned and raised his arms above his head, feeling his limbs pop and crack pleasantly. Of all his fellow riders, he had least sympathy for these nefarious blaggards, but he still winced as the cries and shrieks began. There were others he would have wished escape on more, but after several intense minutes of combat, he still couldn't bring himself to be unhappy when the three men stumbled out again, mostly intact, although very singed and bloody.

"No luck?" Harry asked innocently though as the men scared their horses as they scrambled for their water skins.

"Hurry up and die boy," Flint growled, tipping water over his head then down his gullet.

Harry just shifted on the ground to find more comfort, and began munching on a roll of bread his mother had given him for the journey. "Not yet," he said confidently.